


Magnus Memorial

by cherrysconesforsimon



Series: Magnus Memorial High School [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: "Spooky Lesbians", Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Also um, Alternate Universe - High School, Coffee Shops, Completed, F/F, F/M, Get ready for a wild ride, House Party, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Prom, Slow Burn, Weddings, by the way i'd die for jane, drama club, i hope you like the Avatars, i know 0 british high school vernacular, i'm a dirty useless american, if there's a character in tma, if you expect anything to happen quickly :), like everyone is here, literally the definition of slowburn, martin is a mechs fan, mechs!jon, not all men? you're right. michael shelley would never do this, oliver banks is a sexy bitch, rules don't apply to michael, there's so much happening, they're probably in this fic, you'll be surprised :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 62
Words: 211,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrysconesforsimon/pseuds/cherrysconesforsimon
Summary: Jonathan Sims is a bit of an asshole. Martin learns this on his first day of teaching at Magnus Memorial, a job he's been working to get for years. He's swept under the wing of an eclectic group of teachers, but even as his friendship grows with the others, he just can't stop thinking about Jon.Agnes, Annabelle, and Jane are a package deal at Magnus Memorial. Top of the class, in drama club, winning quiz bowls, trying to find jobs. But the balance of their friendship is in danger when an unexpected person walks in to audition for the play- Jude Perry. Agnes, against every voice of reason in her, is willing to give Jude a chance.A magnus high school AU, including slow burn romance, hijinks, and a little too much alcohol. A world where the Fears are only specialty coffee drinks.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Jude Perry, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Oliver Banks/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Series: Magnus Memorial High School [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060739
Comments: 950
Kudos: 525





	1. 9/06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, nerds. Get ready for a wild ride and a lengthy one at that. We're throwing everyone in this one, which might be a little ambitious, but I'm ready if y'all are.  
> Also- despite research into the British educational system, their schools still make no sense to me because I am a useless American. I'm terribly sorry for the inaccuracy, but imagine that an American high school has just been dropped in the middle of England. That's essentially this story.

**Chapter One: 9/06**

-Martin Blackwood-

9/06

_ Breathe in. _

Fingers, tightened around the steering wheel, nails painted in a chipped lavender.

_ Breathe out.  _

The sun hovered above the third floor of the high school. It cast a glow onto the parking lot, where Martin sat in his still-rumbling car. He pulled out the key and it stopped.

Martin had been inside the school on a few occasions. Of course, there was the hiring process, and then setting up the basics of his classroom in the summer, but the empty hallways and desks weren’t what scared him. That was the  _ people.  _ He’d passed a few other teachers in the halls over the summer- they’d nodded at him, smiled politely. No one struck up a conversation, and he sure didn’t.

Growing up, he’d stayed in the same school district. Martin never had to experience walking into the first day of high school with no knowledge of his peers. But today, that’s exactly what he’d be doing, and with the added responsibility of leading his students. He let out a shaking breath.

_ Inhale. Exhale.  _

The clock in his car read  _ 7:15.  _ He’d better get inside. 

Martin took his bag- making sure that it held his identification badge- and oh for fuck’s sake, why not go through it again? And so he did, checking for the fourth time that he had everything. He did. No more stalling.

The car door shut behind him, and he positioned the bag on his shoulder, feeling its comforting presence like a shield. Across the parking lot, another teacher bent down into their car, but he didn’t see anyone else near him. 

Martin climbed the steps to the entrance and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. Hopefully no one would immediately ask for a handshake. He used his badge to unlock the door and swung it open, the heavy metal closing on his back as he stepped through. It hit his heel and he gave a small cry, more of surprise than anything.

Fantastic way to start things off. 

Inside, the halls smelled of disinfectant, the cleanliness from summer untarnished by students. Empty lockers and organized classrooms. The peace wouldn’t last for long, and Martin was glad for it. He’d always felt that silent high schools fell into this strange liminal realm, something so almost normal but not quite there. Being a teacher now- a real, certified teacher- meant he’d be spending much more time in quiet and empty classrooms. 

Walking through the halls to his room on the second floor, Martin passed by a few classrooms with teachers already in them. One woman with long brown hair even waved at him from inside the counselling room. He gave her a nod in return, still anxious. 

Room number 2106. Martin opened the door into his classroom, which hadn’t changed since he’d set it up in the summer. Medium sized, with a smartboard in the front and a whiteboard on the back wall. He’d already organized the desks into five rows of four.

The room felt far too dark to him. He crossed to the opposite side of the classroom from the door and pulled up the blinds, letting sunlight spill into the room and illuminate the desks. Smiling, he looked around the space where his students would shortly be, truly appreciating the moment for the first time. Martin had accomplished a dream.

Before high school, and even during, he didn’t want to be a  _ teacher.  _ But then his mother had gotten worse, and he dropped out to care for her. After that, he valued education so much more than before.

When his mother decided to go to a nursing home (the thought still gave Martin pain), he enrolled in a program to get his high school diploma. Then he went to university, determined to not only be fully educated, but to educate others as well.

And now, Martin was here. He’d done it.

Martin tried to find more things to do in his classroom, reorganizing supplies and changing the order of books on his shelves, but he’d been rather thorough during the summer. He sat down behind his desk and looked to the windows.

Checking the clock above the door, there was still about half an hour until the students arrived. He’d brought a thermos but nothing to fill it with- perhaps the teachers’ lounge would have water or tea. There would probably be other teachers there, and he’d need to forge on into the room and probably say hello to a few of them. 

Okay. It would be fine.

Martin grabbed his thermos from his bag and found his way to the lounge, turning once down a wrong hallway but righting his path quickly. 

Inside the lounge, an older man with dark skin and close cut gray hair sipped on a mug of coffee. He was reading a newspaper- like, an actual  _ newspaper.  _ He briefly raised his eyes to Martin, gave a nod, and then continued reading. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with much conversation with that one, at least for now.

Four round tables were placed in the middle of the room, a sofa and copying machine near the back. Martin went to a counter that lined one of the walls. He was glad for the hot water machine and boxes of tea, passing entirely by the container of instant coffee.

He poured out hot water into the thermos and then looked through the assortment of teas, settling for English breakfast. As he began to steep the tea, the door opened behind him and he had to stop himself from jumping.

Someone walked up to the water machine, and Martin scooted to the side to make room for them. He placed the thermos on the counter and looked up, and-  _ oh. _

A man, quite a few inches shorter than Martin, poured water out into a thermos with what looked like a permanent scowl. But Martin’s eyes couldn’t stop looking at the way strands of long hair fell in his face, some gray despite the fact that the man couldn’t have been more than 30. Tired lines etched into young dark skin, features sharp and defined under a layer of haziness that he seemed to possess. Striking, intense eyes, and a sweater vest that loosely wrapped over his thin frame. 

Christ, Martin may have had an English degree but that was no excuse for waxing poetics like this. He had to stop  _ doing  _ this whenever meeting an attractive stranger. 

The man stopped pouring out water and looked up at Martin, who quickly turned away. Had he been staring? Yep, he’d definitely been staring.

“Are you the new English teacher?”

He had a smooth, low voice that matched his appearance, and an accent so pronounced it could have been fake if Martin didn’t know better. 

“I- uh, yes, I am! First- first day teaching,” Martin stuttered out, cringing at his lack of eloquence.

The man opened a tea bag and placed it inside his own thermos. He leaned against the countertop with a small raise of his eyebrows. “Right.” He gave Martin a brief once over, and not the type that meant anything particularly flattering. Suddenly, Martin felt self conscious about his jumper, lavender to match his nails. “When you said first day, do you mean first day  _ ever _ teaching?”

Martin nodded. “Yes, actually, this is- this is um, my first real gig out of university, not just TA’ing,” he said. The resulting look from tired sweater vest man was not an enjoyable one. 

“University.” He spoke without much interest, voice flatly surprised. 

“I- I went late.” Martin ran his hand through his curly hair, feeling stared down by the man standing across from him, with a sour expression and piercing eyes behind square glasses. 

“Hm. The kids will rip you apart. Good luck, I’m going back to my room.”

Martin stood still for a moment, shocked, before even attempting to respond, but the man left before he could get a word out. “ _ Asshole, _ ” he grumbled under his breath, turning back to his thermos and bobbing the tea bag. 

So much for a good first impression with a colleague. Ah, well, hopefully they wouldn’t be interacting all that much.

“I see you’ve met Jon?”

A voice came from behind, and Martin turned to look at a woman standing in the doorway. She stepped inside the lounge and closed the door behind her. It was the same woman who had waved at him from the counselling room, and her voice was just as friendly. 

Martin chuckled lightly. “Yeah, he’s… interesting.” Hm.  _ Jon. _

Sasha nodded and waved at the man reading a newspaper. “Hey Adelard! Great to see you again,” she said, and the man- Adelard- actually gave her a small wave. She turned back to Martin. “Jon is a bit of a prick at first- well, he’s always a bit of a prick- but he can actually be a good time if he’s warmed up to you. And the kids adore him just as much as he adores them.”

She stuck her hand out and smiled at him. “Well, anyway, I’m Sasha, or Ms. James to the little fucks. You the new English teacher?”

Martin shook her hand, hoping to god that it wasn’t as sweaty as before. “Yep, Martin Blackwood.” He let go of her hand. “Was he right about the kids, uh-  _ ripping me apart _ ?”

Sasha grimaced. “Jon wasn’t  _ entirely  _ wrong in that respect. Don’t get me wrong, we love our kids, but considering that they’re all older teenagers, they’re not always the most forgiving.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Martin said, laughing. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

“Alright! Well, there’s the bell, so thanks for a great first class everyone! I look forward to seeing you all again tomorrow.”

Martin clasped his hands together, watching the tenth graders pick up their backpacks and file out of the classroom. They didn’t react to what Martin said, but that’s fine. They had other places to be. 

His first period was an Honors English 10 class, and it showed. All the students seemed remarkably respectful- although he was certain that would eventually change as he and the students adapted to each other. As a younger teacher, he wanted a relationship with his students that had as much friendship as it did respect. 

A boy with long dark hair and in all black passed by Martin’s desk, and gave him a slight smile. Even the tiny gesture filled Martin with warmth. If the kid in heavy eyeliner and with about a dozen piercings gave him a smile, that was a win. What had his name been- Gerard? As he left the classroom, Martin noticed a tattoo of an eye on his back. Well, it wasn’t his place to judge. 

Only one more kid was left in the classroom. He walked up to Martin’s desk, and Martin actually had to blink a few times to look at him- the effect hadn’t been the same when the boy was in a seat.

He had long blonde hair that cascaded over his shoulders, but that was the least interesting thing about the boy’s appearance. He’d layered a purple mesh jacket over a neon yellow crop top, and tie-dyed shorts paired interestingly with bright floral leggings. As Martin’s eyes travelled over his body, he reached the stunning conclusion- hot pink combat boots. The student gave Martin a headache in the most fascinating of ways. 

“Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin snapped out of his transfixion and looked at the kid’s face, where shimmering pink makeup had skillfully been applied around intense eyes. “I- yes?”

The student shifted his weight onto one foot and put a hand around the strap of his backpack. “Sorry sir, I did not get a syllabus.”

The words took a few seconds to process in Martin’s mind. “Oh, um, yeah- of course.” He took an extra packet from his desk and handed it to the kid. “Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Ah, Mr. Blackwood, I assure you there are more interesting questions to ask one except that- you may know my name, but what does that say of my soul? They hold no power. Names are given, not created,” he said, and then smiled with a whiteness that could blind.

Martin had no idea how to respond to that. So he simply didn't. His teaching course hadn’t prepared him for cryptic tenth graders that looked like the human embodiment of a highlighter. 

The kid shrugged, as if he hadn’t said anything before. “I am Michael.”

“Right, I- thank you, Michael, have a good day then.”

Martin pursed his lips and watched Michael exit the classroom, leaving the lasting impression of a color cataclysm in the air- or maybe that was just his eyes adjusting. 

“Weird kid,” he muttered.

With a start, Martin realized that another class would be arriving in just a minute or so. AP English 11, he believed, and then he had a free period before his two regular level classes of the morning. Martin had only begun to take out the syllabus sheets from a drawer before the door opened again.

Still reaching for the papers inside his desk, he looked up at the student that entered. Her style was nearly as striking as Michael’s (though not quite, thank god), with smooth dark skin and hair that looked to have been shaved a few months before but was growing in now, bleached at the ends. A plastic spider dangled from each of her ears. 

More students filed in behind her, and Martin made his way to the front of the classroom as they arranged themselves into desks. An AP class, so hopefully they’d be just as manageable as the last one. 

The shaved-head-spider-girl purposefully sat with two other students, one with long black hair and the other red. He briefly surveyed everyone else as they settled into their chairs.

“Hello, uh, everyone! I’m Mr. Blackwood-” he gestured to his name, written on the board, “and welcome to AP English 11. This is the first year you guys have had an AP English class, correct?” He was answered with general nodding, a few students saying ‘yes.’

“Great! So, if you could just pass  _ these  _ back-” he gave the syllabus packets to the front row of students, who took their own copies and turned back to hand them to others. Considering that it was an AP class, only about three quarters of the desks were filled. “Thank you,” he said, and walked back to the front.

“So, before we start going over what’s in the syllabus and how this class is going to go, I’m going to take attendance and hopefully learn some of your names.” Martin picked up the roster from his desk. “No guarantees though.” At that one, he earned a few smiles from the students, and that was a win in his eyes.

First on the alphabetized list was  _ Agnes Montague. _

“Agnes?” 

The girl with straight red hair, sitting with the other two he’d taken particular notice of, raised her hand halfway up. “Here.”

Martin checked the name off of the list. “Uh, Annabelle?”

This time, the shaved-head-spider-girl answered. The name really did fit rather well. 

He quickly worked down the list of fifteen, the name of the last girl in their trio ‘Jane.’ The roster went back to his desk and he turned to the class again. “Right, so now that that’s over with, let’s talk about this class- I’ll try not to make it all that boring.”

When the bell rang at the end of the period, Martin felt rather proud of himself. They’d had extra time after going over the syllabus and general conduct, and so he’d inquired into their favorite books and what they wanted to read that year, planning to use their suggestions and tastes in his plans. He and the students even got halfway into a discussion about what determined ‘classical’ literature and its worth compared to contemporary literature.

That girl Agnes had interesting opinions on what defined the classics and how more modern novels related to it- of course, most of the students contributed to the discussion, but Agnes had a certain disposition that he was excited to see more of in her work throughout the year. 

The students said goodbye to Martin as he left, a little jarring to him, considering that the name ‘Mr. Blackwood’ still felt foreign. But once they’d left, he leaned back into his chair and sighed a breath of relief. Everything had gone well so far.

Five minutes into his free period, as he worked on some minor changes to his online gradebook format, there was a knock at the door. Martin glanced at the narrow window on the door but couldn’t clearly see who it was, and so he walked over and opened it.

“Hi!” A younger man, about his own age (and  _ very  _ attractive) stood next to another woman. She held a mug, clutched between both hands. “We wanted to welcome you! We don’t get a new teacher every year, especially not in English,” the man said.

Martin nodded, a little surprised, but not unhappy about the sudden visit. “Great, uh- would you like to come in?” He stepped back into the classroom, allowing them to follow and close the door behind them. 

“I’m Melanie, that’s Tim,” the woman- Melanie- said. Her hair, dark blue and cut at the chin with thick bangs, was rather unusual for a teacher, but he liked the look. Tim, on the other hand, had a smile so charming that Martin felt physically affected by it.

“I’m Martin, it’s great to meet you guys. I haven’t talked to many of the other teachers yet- only Sasha and Jon this morning, I’m assuming you know them?”

Tim laughed. “Yeah, we definitely know them.”

“Sasha is a sweetheart,” Melanie said. “Jon is also a sweetheart, in the way that Sour Patch Kids are sweet.”

Martin laughed, still skeptical of everyone’s claims that Jon was anything but, well, sour. 

“Anyway, we brought you a little welcome gift,” Tim said, gesturing to the mug in Melanie’s hands. She sighed and held it out to him.

“Please don’t hold me responsible for the mug we got, it was Tim’s idea…”

Martin took the mug and read the side of it.  _ I Put The Lit In Literature!  _ He snorted. “No, I- I love it. All my students can make fun of me for it, it’ll be fantastic,” he said, and truly, was not being sarcastic. A warmth filled him at the thought that his colleagues had bought this just for him- even if they didn’t actually know him before this. 

“What do you two teach?” he asked. 

“Gym, and please do  _ not  _ make jokes about ‘Tim of the Gym’ or whatever because all the rest of these fucks-” he pointedly looked at Melanie- “already do so.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “I’m very much going to do that now.”

“ _ Hah _ ! Another recruit,” Melanie laughed. “And I teach Spanish.”

Tim looked down at his watch. “Well, it was great to meet you, Martin, but I really need to make sure everything is in order before my next class. We’ll see you later?”

He placed the mug on his desk and smiled at them. “Yeah, of course! Thanks again for the mug.”

“No problem,” Melanie said. 

As the two of them left and Martin’s classroom was once again empty, he looked at the mug with an unmistakable feeling of hope. Maybe one first impression hadn’t gone well, but Sasha, Tim, and Melanie all seemed nice enough. (And what was it with this school about young, attractive teachers? Christ). 

More importantly, though, Martin felt he’d made a good impression on the kids. And so, as he began to prepare for the next two classes, he knew this would be a good year. 

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

9/06  
  
  


“I. Am.  _ Exhausted. _ ”

Annabelle plopped herself onto Agnes’s lap, dropping her backpack between their chair and the seat in front. Always a dramatic, that one.

“It’s the first day, Annabelle, if you’re already this exhausted, that’s probably not a good sign,” Agnes said. “You better have enough energy to fuckin  _ kill  _ this audition so we both get leads.”

Annabelle sighed and leaned into Agnes. “I had to wake up at six-thirty today. Six thirty. I don’t think I experienced even a single morning the whole summer. My sleep schedule is a joke.”

Agnes snorted- unlike Annabelle, she woke up at relatively sane times in the summer, preferring to stay as productive as possible. She’d need it to get through this junior year alive. Between taking almost exclusively Honors and AP classes, drama, Academic Competition Club- or ACC, as they all called it, and her needing to get a job to help out her mom, this would be a relentless ten months.

“That sounds like a you problem,” she said, fighting back the urge to laugh at Annabelle’s expression. Agnes was glad for the cushion of auditorium chairs, otherwise the weight of Annabelle on her lap would probably be painful. This had been the part of the day she looked forward to with excitement- drama auditions. She’d see friends from last year, meet incoming freshmen, and most importantly, find out what this year’s musical would be.

Annabelle sat up straight again and looked around the auditorium, alert. The Magnus auditorium was nothing special- medium sized, wall to wall with beige carpeting, fit with a rather lacking sound system. But it was home, and Agnes loved it.

“Where’s Janey?” Annabelle asked.

Agnes shrugged and checked her phone. “I don’t know- technically, school ended only around four minutes ago, so she’s still got until three.”

“Do you want me to get off your lap now?” Annabelle looked down at her thighs, clad in tight red jeans, where they spread out over Agnes’s.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. I mean that in the kindest way possible.”

Annabelle huffed and sat herself down in the seat next to Agnes, not bothering to lower it before sitting and dropping down with a  _ thunk.  _ The auditorium seats hadn’t been replaced in a while, some with more tear than fabric.

“So-” Annabelle opened her backpack and took out a piece of paper from the front pocket- “we had four classes together, right? And three of those were with Jane too?”

Agnes thought back to her day, running through her schedule. She looked down at the paper in Annabelle’s hand, which had her own classes listed on it. “Uh- correct.”

“Oh, also, I want your opinion- how many of our teachers this year are definitely some degree of homosexual?”

Agnes again tried to recall all of her teachers. They’d had Sims, Banks, King,  _ and  _ Stoker before, so she knew them fairly well. The other three were new, but as a seasoned bisexual herself, she was fairly confident in her educated guesses. “Um- literally all of them. And Mr. Blackwood is fucking adorable.”

A few people started coming in through the doors, none yet that Agnes was particularly good friends with. Annabelle waved to a girl- her name was Sarah or something like that, a tenth grader. Mr. Amherst had yet to arrive.

“Agreed, human version of a teddy bear.” Annabelle had barely finished the sentence when they heard a familiar voice from behind. 

“How did you get here this early?"

Agnes turned and her face lit up when she saw Jane, standing in the aisle, smiling. Annabelle immediately got up and threw her arms around her. “I missed you!” she said. 

Laughing, Jane separated from her. “It has been  _ barely _ more than one period since I’ve seen you.”

Annabelle put a hand to her heart, face contorted in an expression of fake pain. “One moment spent without you, Janey, is a moment I do not want to experience.”

“I love you too, Annabelle.” Jane set her backpack down in the row where they’d chosen to sit, midway to the back of the auditorium. She sat on the side of Agnes that Annabelle hadn’t already occupied. “You guys ready for the audition?”

Annabelle sat down as well, effectively sandwiching Agnes between the two of them. “Can you ever really  _ be  _ ready?” 

“Well, it’s not like there’s much for us to be scared of anymore,” Agnes said. As she finished her sentence, the heavy doors at the front of the auditorium opened, and in walked a familiar eyesore. Jane commented on it before she did.

“Michael’s here!” she said, and raised an arm to wave him down. Annabelle smiled fondly as he walked up the aisle to them.

“Look at our little baby freshman. He looks so grown up.”

Agnes always respected the way Michael knew exactly who he was. He had no fear in wearing whatever he wanted, being whoever he wanted- Michael expressed himself with total freedom (even if he sometimes freaked people out a little). Truthfully, he  _ did  _ have freedom in expressing himself. The year before, he’d been brought to Principal Bouchard multiple times for violating the dress code, and nothing ever seemed to happen. When Agnes asked about it, Michael simply smiled and said “I reach deeper into people than a handbook.” She’d had no idea what that meant, but if it allowed Michael to continue wearing crop tops and skirts as he often did, she didn’t see a problem. 

“Michael! You look dapper as ever.” Annabelle pulled him into a hug as well, something she often did after not seeing someone for months (or forty minutes). “I missed you over the summer, but always took comfort in the fact that I know you were causing mischief- at least I hope.”

He smiled, a face sharp and intense. “You know that I do my best.”

Agnes checked her phone again- only a couple minutes until the auditions would begin. The front rows of the auditorium started to fill. “You’re here early- isn’t Art Club usually on Mondays?”

“That does not start until next week,” he said.

During their exchange, Jane had excitedly ran behind Michael, and was- assaulting his backpack? “Guys! He got a new backpack! It’s the type with the- the reversible sequins.” She leaned out from behind him, her long black braid hanging to the side. “This is weirdly fun.”

As Annabelle went to join Jane in their admittedly childish game of reversing the sequins on Michael’s backpack, Agnes noticed his eyeshadow. It was very nicely pigmented. “What palette is your eye color from?” she asked.

“Ah, the ‘Tesco Clearance,” he answered, just as another voice from the front of the auditorium began to rise over him.

“Everyone! Please take your seats.” Mr. Amherst had entered the auditorium, and he clapped his hands together to further get their attention. Michael nodded at them and went down to the front as the three girls went back to their chairs.

“I thank you all for being here today,” he said, taking his usual position in front of the stage. He explained the audition process for anyone who hadn’t done it before- Agnes tuned most of it out, as she’d already done this twice. She ran the lyrics of her audition song in her head over and over again. Annabelle nudged her arm, knowing how Agnes looked when she zoned out. 

“So now, I’d like to tell you all this year’s musical.” Amherst dragged out the anticipation a second too long, truly a drama teacher. “...The Addams Family.”

Annabelle loudly snorted from next to her, and Agnes couldn’t blame her. As avid horror fans, all three of them, they were indifferent to The Addams Family as a whole, but weren’t keen on desecrating it with a high school script. Well, hopefully it would be fun.

For the first time, Agnes noticed a young woman sitting on the stage near Mr. Amherst. She didn’t recognize the woman and didn’t think she taught at the school either. She had a fit look, pretty with dark skin and lively eyes. 

Thankfully, Mr. Amherst turned and gestured to her. She pushed off the stage and landed on her feet. “I would also like to introduce Ms. Barker to you- she’ll be helping with choreography this year.” Ms. Barker gave a small wave to them all. 

Annabelle leaned over to whisper in Agnes’s ear. “Shit, do you think we’d be against the rules if Barker doesn’t technically work at the school?”

Agnes grimaced. “I’m fairly certain it’s still some kind of illegal,” she said. Annabelle sighed and fell back against her chair.

“Damn.”

On the other side of the auditorium from where they sat, the door opened again, sunlight from the lobby of their school flooding in before the door slammed shut again. Agnes craned her neck to see who had entered so late.

Jane raised a subtly pointed finger to the doors. “Do you- do you see who that is?”

An old tank top, tight fitting and showing a shoulder with an intricate tattoo of flames. Choppy black hair that went just above the ears, showing multiple piercings. Agnes saw who it was. Jude Perry.

Mr. Amherst turned to the doors, which Jude leaned against, hands in her pockets. She had- well, a  _ reputation.  _ And not exactly the reputation of someone who devotes themselves to extracurriculars like drama. They all knew it, as well as Amherst, whose expression went flat.

“Ah- excuse me?”

Jude raised her eyebrows. “Sorry for being late. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“I- I-” Amherst stammered a little. Agnes could tell that he obviously didn’t want to outright say any of his thoughts to a student. He could get reported for that kind of thing. “Are you… are you here to audition?”

“Yes.”

Jude flopped down into the seat closest to the door, the chair squeaking in an otherwise silent auditorium. “There a problem with that?”

As if snapped out of his thoughts, Mr. Amherst shook his head, and turned back to the rest of the students. “No, we’re- we’re happy to have more people.”

Agnes, Annabelle, and Jane exchanged suspicious glances. Normally, they didn’t care all that much about Jude. They weren’t the types to get into fights anyway. But it was hard to imagine a reason why Jude would suddenly be eager to audition for the school musical, and it put Agnes on edge. As much as she made fun of them, she deeply cared about the success of their productions. If Jude was looking to derail that- well, Agnes just didn’t want that to happen.

Jude didn’t cause any problems as people started to audition, singing their allotted one minute on stage. Mr. Amherst and Ms. Barker hurriedly typed on laptops. Their screens glowed uncomfortably in the dim auditorium. When Agnes heard her name called, she took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the stage.

She looked into the small audience. Jude caught her eye. 

There was something  _ there,  _ as they locked eyes, and Agnes swore the expression Jude wore was that of deep thought. At first, it seemed aggressive, but no. More like she had been given a puzzle, and would solve it with just another piece. Agnes couldn’t look away.

She tried to recall, had the two of them ever had a conversation? Had they even looked at each other before?

Yes. They did. The start of ninth grade. Agnes hadn’t thought about it in a long time. 

October was an early time of year to get a bad bout of the flu, but it happened sometimes, as Agnes found out one autumn morning. She woke up sweating in the bedroom she shared with her mother. Nauseous and with a terrible headache, Agnes went to their tiny apartment kitchen and told her mum she felt sick. Even in the wake of the house fire, Agnes had never been the type to try and skip school, and so her mother let her stay home without much question.

Despite how terrible the flu had felt on that first day, Agnes awoke the next with a full determination to go to school- and so she did. Nevermind the lingering headache or stuffy nose. Upon finding out that there’d been an algebra test on her day of absence, Agnes asked the teacher to let her take it after school. The teacher admired her responsibility and said yes.

And that’s how Agnes ended up walking to her locker half an hour after school ended for the day. Her spirits were high- with a test that had gone rather well and someone new to sit with at lunch (Jane seems so nice!), the pros of the day outweighed the slight pounding in her head. 

Then she turned a corner. And there was a girl, slumped against the wall. Agnes took a staggering step back when she saw her forearm covered in blood, hand pressed to her face. She looked in either direction down the hall, hoping for another person to be near- preferably an adult- but no such people appeared. Agnes knelt down in front of her, and the girl looked up.

At the start of ninth grade, the girl had straight black hair that went past her shoulders, with a nondescript t-shirt and ears free of holes. She looked innocent. Young. But with those same eyes.

She held a hand up to her nose, which blood flowed from, and one of her eyes looked to be swelling. Agnes just blinked at her. 

“I- uh, are you okay?”

Surprisingly, the girl laughed, resulting in a thicker flow of blood for a moment. “Not really.”

Okay. That was fair. “Can- can I help you? Maybe to Nurse Gertrude?” Agnes asked, unsure of what else she could do.

“Don’t worry about me.”

This was a statement that Agnes refused to follow. “No, I’m helping you.” She held out her hand and helped the girl to her feet, who stumbled a little, but put her hand against the wall. “I’m- I’m Agnes,” she said.

The girl looked at her warily. “Jude.”

As they began walking, steadily getting to the nurse on the first floor, Agnes tried to inquire further into what happened. “Who did this to you?”

Jude only sent her a glare. Agnes decided to shut up.

After Nurse Gertrude cleaned her up and gave Jude an ice pack, Agnes knew it was time for her to go. She could tell that Jude’s life wouldn’t intersect with hers again- she’d done her part, and didn’t want to get involved. 

As Agnes left the office, she stopped in the doorway, hearing a call from behind. “Thank you.”

She turned. Jude sat in a chair against the wall, face almost expressionless, although it was hard to tell through the swelling.

“Yeah.”

  
  


“Agnes? Are you alright?”

She tore her eyes away from Jude, shaking off the memory, which felt like some distant relic of the past. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, straightening her posture again.

Amherst nodded. “Alright. Ready when you are, then.”

Agnes began her piece of  _ The Light in the Piazza _ , trying to focus. But it was hard. Jude stared at her from the front row, different, changed, but with the same eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Literally two days ago, I finished a longer fic, and one would think that I'd take a little longer to, you know, plan and take a break, but I have already made multiple spreadsheets and a LOT of bullet points of information so I am feeling ready to go!! Been planning for a while now.  
> If you have any feedback on this, feel free to comment! It's going to be far different from other things I've done, so if any of you guys want a different chapter length, have comments, or simply just want to Vibe with me, please feel free to say them.  
> Also, let me know what you think of having Agnes as a POV. I don't see much attention on her in the fandom and I genuinely love the Spooky Gals, so I thought it would be fun.  
> That's all! Yeehaw


	2. 9/08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: smoking, house fires, insects, jon being kind of a dick (like usual)  
> i thought of the concept of this chapter and then immediately listened to Cigarette Daydream by cage the elephant like five times while writing. if anyone wants the playlist w Vibes for this fic, you can find it here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyemTaP5AWaM5UPy9WdJ-MJy  
> (i update it a lot)  
> also, i do n o t condone smoking or anything like that!! but jon canonically smokes and jude is literally an avatar of fire and destruction so. there's that

-Martin Blackwood-

9/08

  
  


As Martin’s pen glided across a page of his notebook, he knew that grading assignments would be a better use of his time, but didn’t really care. There were emotions in him that needed expressing. In Martin’s childhood, he never had people to confide in. His mother would just criticize him. The acquaintances he made at school weren’t close enough for him to open up.

So instead of turning to other people when he felt overwhelmed, Martin turned pages. Had a notebook full of poems by the time he was fourteen. They weren’t particularly  _ good  _ poems, but they helped, and were just for him anyway, so why would it matter?

He kept writing poetry into adulthood, his primary form of coping. The interest even prompted a passion for literature that resulted in him earning an English degree. 

That was just another factor that landed Martin in his own classroom, pouring over a new poem at his desk. He converted many thoughts to stanzas; the new beginnings that lay in unfamiliarity, parallels between high school and adulthood, a line that concerned sour and compelling faces. He erased the last one.

Over the summer, Martin had been told of a space in the school day called ‘advisory,’ a supposed replacement for homeroom. Students had half of a normal period to go to whatever classroom they wanted- whether for help or just to get work done. Some clubs operated during this time as well.

Martin liked the idea of an advisory period, keen for more time to engage with his students. However, by the third day of school, no students had walked through his door yet in advisory. That was okay, though- he understood. 

Sighing, Martin closed his notebook and leaned back in his chair. He looked up to check the clock- only three minutes left of advisory. After that would be his lunch break.

The day before, Martin stayed in his classroom to eat lunch, not quite up to braving the teacher’s lounge at lunch. But he could do it today. Sasha, Melanie, and Tim might be there, and they seemed to like him! He’d conversed with two other teachers in a hallway as well, Daisy and Basira, the obvious power couple of the school. They also seemed welcoming enough.

Martin went to take just his lunch, but decided against it, grabbing his whole bag. On the off chance that not many other people were in the lounge, he might want to get a start on those British Lit assignments. (They weren’t particularly difficult, or anything, they’d only been in school for two and a half days, and considering that it was Friday already, Martin didn’t want to give weekend homework first thing).

He passed by a few students on the quick trip to the lounge room, smiling at a couple who were in his classes. Magnus wasn’t a particularly large high school, with only one other English teacher he’d met with the day before in his morning free period. 

Sasha waved Martin over once he was in the lounge, and so he sat in the chair next to her, with Tim across from him. “Hey Martin! How’s it going?”

Before Martin could answer, Tim interjected, “You didn’t come to eat lunch with us Wednesday or yesterday, I was worried you’d end up being a recluse like Jon!”

“Jon’s a… recluse?”

Tim shrugged. “I mean, not  _ really,  _ he still comes to game nights and the like, we see him, but he always stays in his room during lunch- I think there’s a kid who likes to eat there?” 

“Gerry,” Sasha said, nodding. “He’s one of my regulars- nice kid, though. Jon basically talks about him like his son, it’s excruciatingly adorable.”

“Jon? Adorable? Funny.”

Martin looked to the side- Daisy had come in at some point and dragged another chair up to the table, which thankfully had space for it. She sat with the back of the chair to the table and her legs straddled around it. 

Of course, Basira was right behind her, and pulled up a chair as well, this one in the right direction. With five people, the table began to feel a little cramped. No one else seemed to mind, though.

Basira rolled her eyes. “Daisy, you text him about almost everything you could text a person about- I once saw you take a picture of a bird outside your window and send it to him with the message,  _ good bird. got name? _ ”

“He’s good at naming things,” she muttered.

Something about discussing Jon made Martin feel strange. He very quickly wanted to change the subject. “Daisy, Basira, I didn’t get a chance to ask what you teach?”

“Calc and statistics,” Basira said. 

“I do gym with  _ that  _ fuck over there.” Daisy tilted her head across the table to Tim, who smiled sweetly.

“Not my fault I’m a better gym teacher than you, Daisy,” he said in a sing-song voice.

Daisy bristled. “There’s no way in hell you’re a better teacher than me.”

“I don’t know, you checked a gradebook recently?”

“Well  _ I  _ give grades based on actual effort, not just any poor excuse for participation!”

“Huh, maybe that’s why the students like me more?”

Sasha rubbed her temple. “Would you two idiots  _ please  _ stop bickering.”

Tim and Daisy laughed, their argument without any malicious intent. “You two are like good cop, bad cop, except it’s bad cop and  _ worse  _ cop,” Basira said. 

“Thanks babe,” Daisy said, pressing a quick kiss to Basira’s cheek. “You’re always so supportive.”

There was once again the sound of a chair dragging across the tile floor of the lounge. Next to Tim, a man sat down, and Martin couldn’t help but stare.

In times like these, Martin would revert back to his instinctual English teacher nature. As he looked at the man who just sat down, he found himself stricken with a certain aesthetic appreciation; he felt himself like Basil meeting Dorian Gray for the first time, marvelling at a charming smile that masked tragedy equally alluring. 

The man propped his chin on his fist and looked around the table. “Am I too late to the party?”

“Oh, Martin, have you met Oliver yet?” Sasha asked. Martin shook his head, not trusting his mouth.

Oliver reached his hand out over the table with a slight smile. “Oliver Banks.” They shook hands, and Martin noticed Oliver had his nails painted black, his dark skin and nails opposing Martin’s. “Great to meet you, Martin.”

Martin finally managed to loosen up his tongue. He wasn’t even particularly  _ attracted  _ to Oliver, the man just had a presence that, when ambushed on someone, threatened to overwhelm. “I- uh, yeah, you too.” He let go of Oliver’s hand. “What, uh- what subject? Do you teach, I mean?”

Oliver smiled kindly at him, as if knowing exactly what Martin was feeling. “Science- mostly physics and chemistry, but I’ve got an astronomy and botany class as well in the afternoon. I take it you’re the new English teacher?”

“Um- yes. Yep, I am.”

With introductions over, Oliver pulled out a lunch, and Daisy and Basira began talking on the side, reviving the life of the room. Martin noticed another teacher in the corner with bright clothes and purple hair, probably about middle aged, who reminded him of a real estate agent who somehow became an art teacher but didn’t  _ entirely  _ fit the role. She conversed with an older man Martin also hadn’t met before. 

“Made the classic science class slipup earlier today,” Oliver said, and then took a bite of his sandwich. Martin suddenly realized he’d entirely forgotten about lunch, rather preoccupied by this small table taken up by six people. “Said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism.’ You know, it’s such an infantile mistake to be ashamed of, but it doesn’t feel any better the  _ third  _ time you’ve done it.”

They all laughed, and Martin was glad for the demystification of Oliver’s presence, something he thought may have been intentional. Martin opened his bag to take out lunch, and- ah, fuck. He knew he’d forgotten something that morning.

“How much longer do we have for lunch break?” he asked. Tim looked down at his watch. 

“About… twenty minutes.”

Martin sighed. “I forgot my lunch at home.” He did  _ not  _ want to eat cafeteria food, not just 3 days into the school year. 

Sasha grimaced. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Hasn’t happened to  _ me _ ,” Tim said, and then took a rather loud spoonful of his soup.

Daisy sent him a glare. “That’s because you’re not the best of us, Tim.”

Martin really, really didn’t feel like it, but he knew that he had a free period after lunch and therefore had the time to run back to his flat and get lunch. “I think I’ll just get it real quick- I’ll see you guys later,” he said, standing up from his chair. 

“Oh! Actually, before you go, we were wondering, would you like to come with us to go out for drinks tomorrow?” Sasha asked. “We usually do that once or twice a month, figured it would be a nice way to kick off the school year. It’d be great if you wanted to come with.”

Martin didn’t have any plans yet. His Saturday evenings usually consisted of watching YouTube videos, making pasta, and trying to throw together some poetry (often all three took place after midnight). “Who’s coming?”

Tim gestured around the table. “Pretty much all of us? Melanie too, I think.”

Hell, why not. “Sure! One of you who has my number could text me more about it later?”

Sasha gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah, of course.”

After saying a few goodbyes, Martin left, annoyed at having to go home, but a pride swelling in his chest as well. He was making  _ friends.  _ Sure, they were also coworkers, but they weren’t obligated to invite him out. They did that because they wanted to.

Martin went down the outside steps, and as he turned a corner of the school building, was hit by the acrid smell of smoke. That prideful, happy feeling dissipated as soon as he saw Jon leaning against the school building. He held a lit cigarette and breathed out a puff of smoke.

He would be lying if Martin were to say he didn’t stop to look at the way Jon’s slender frame relaxed against the brick, long hair falling back and away from his face raised to the sun. He looked contemplative, heavy, the smoke rising to the sky like his gaze. 

Despite this, Martin still didn’t like smoking. It smelled horrendous, really, and that was the least alarming aspect.

He steeled himself to walk by Jon, knowing it would be strange if he turned around and went the long way just to avoid him. When he grew closer, Jon finally noticed him, snapping out of some thoughtful trance. 

“Hey, uh- Jon,” Martin said, his voice raising a little- god, how he hated it when that happened. That was when he realized that Jon had never actually told him his name. “Oh, sorry- the other teachers told me who you were.”

“Martin.” 

Considering that he’d also never given his name, this reassured Martin. “Oh! Good, you- you know as well, I, uh… you smoke?”

Goddammit, Martin. Weird question.

“Yes, I do, if you’re quite  _ alright  _ with that,” Jon said with a tone of repressed bitterness. Martin did not like his vibes. Not at all.

Martin realized, conversing with Jon a second time, that he recognized Jon’s voice from somewhere. He just couldn’t place it, though. “Sorry, I just- didn’t expect to see you out here. The others told me you usually spend lunch in your classroom, with um, Gerard, right?”

“Gerry,” Jon said quickly, and then sighed. “He’s visiting Gertrude today.”

Martin nodded, deciding to ask the others later who Gertrude was. “Well, I forgot my lunch at home, so I was just-”

Jon cut him off. “You do not need to  _ explain  _ your comings and goings to me, Martin.”

“ _ Right.  _ Well, I’ll be off then. I don’t want to- to  _ waste  _ too much time,” he said, putting as much emphasis on the word as possible. Jon seemed unconcerned. He once again raised the cigarette to his lips, and Martin practically stomped away, fed up with the snapping and the sourness. 

Martin got in his car and shut the door (with a little more force than necessary). He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

What had he ever done to Jon? Say hello and try to be polite? Well, no more. If Jon didn’t want to talk, they didn’t have to. From now on, Martin would be polite when having to talk to him, but wouldn’t go out of his way. They’d be coworkers and no more.

After making this decision, Martin felt a little calmer. He connected his phone to the speakers in his car- music was a good way to take your mind off of things. Scrolling through Bandcamp, he clicked on where he left off in  _ High Noon Over Camelot  _ by The Mechanisms, and relaxed into the familiar voice of Jonny D’Ville.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

9/08

  
  


There were only a few places that Agnes truly loved, and one of those was Jane’s bedroom. She laid with her stomach on the plush carpet and opened a highlighter. Jane refused to kill insects that came in her room, sometimes neglecting to even bring them outside, which Agnes wasn’t a fan of, but everything else made up for it. The light, the quiet, the spaciousness, her friends.

Speaking of her friends, Annabelle had her face down on the carpet. She pressed her side to Agnes’s. “I can’t believe Mr. Banks and Ms. Hussain both had the fucking audacity to give us homework our first weekend after school started,” she said, lifting her head from the ground to say it.

Since they became friends, the three of them spent almost every Friday studying at Jane’s or in the library after school. 

Agnes highlighted a line in her physics textbook. “We’re juniors now, what did you expect?”

“And I’ve got to actually put forth  _ effort _ , because no way in hell am I getting to uni without scholarships,” Annabelle huffed. Agnes patted the top of her head, knowing she was right. Annabelle had seven older siblings- the two oldest went to nice universities, the other five had either gone to community, or didn’t at all. Her parents weren’t great at financial planning.

Jane had laid out on her bed, puzzling out the first assignment Ms. Hussain gave them in Pre-calc. “We have a lot of material to get through this year, I may not  _ like  _ it but I understand why they’ve given us so much work already.”

“Janey, darling, you’re the most understanding person I have ever met, it isn’t a high bar,” Annabelle said. 

Jane swung her legs off the side of the bed and walked over to the wall. “Maybe we can have a little study break? Hang out with Concierge?”

Eyes brightening, Annabelle sat up straight. “Yes! I want to see my baby girl!”

Agnes and Annabelle crowded over the cage Jane stood over, helping her to take off the top. Jane reached inside and, with much care, pulled out a stick insect from its enclosure. She kept it in the palm of her hand as they sat down on one edge of the bed. 

The insect, Concierge, looked up at her with what Agnes interpreted as annoyance. She seemed to have been in the middle of a good meal. They liked pretending Concierge had a complex spectrum of emotions to experience.

“Once our extracurriculars start up, the workload will feel even worse,” Jane said, turning her arm as Concierge timidly climbed up.

Agnes reached over to very lightly touch the back of the insect. “Isn’t Banks starting a GSA this year? Are we going to that?”

“Hell yeah we’re going to that, any GSA should have a trio of Spooky Lesbians to help them along!” Annabelle said.

Agnes groaned. “We came up with that stupid nickname in 9th grade, why must you insist upon trying to bring it back?”

Freshman year, they’d called themselves the Spooky Lesbians for a reason. As well as being top of the class, drama kids, and generally enjoyable people, they also banned together out of a shared love for horror. Agnes looked over at Jane’s bookshelves, packed tightly with volumes. Near the bottom, Goosebumps books gathered dust from childhood. Closer to eye level, however, were novels by Stephen King, Koontz, Lovecraft, Poe, and an assortment of other horror pieces they adored. 

Jane shrugged. “I mean, it is kind of nice to have a group name, as admittedly dorky as that is,” she said. Agnes sighed.

“You guys will forget about it by next week, you know.”

Annabelle smiled, knowing they’d won. No matter how hard you fought, it was hard to refuse Annabelle- something about her could have such immediate influence over you. “Love you Agnes.”

Agnes put up her middle finger. Annabelle blew her a kiss. 

Moving Concierge back to the palm of her hand, Jane lightly tapped the back of the insect. “I think Concierge has had enough of us. I’m gonna go put her away.” As Jane lowered Concierge into the cage, she looked back at them. “Agnes, are you doing book club again this year?”

She nodded, and Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Really, Agnes? Even with that annoying ass freshman there who’s been enamored with you since middle school?”

“You mean Jack?” Agnes asked. Annabelle didn’t have to respond to confirm it, just looked exasperatedly at her. “He’s not  _ that _ \- well, he is pretty annoying. But I like book club enough to make up for it. I guess Mr. Blackwood will be running it this year.”

Jane returned to the bed, brushing a leaf off her hand from the enclosure. “He seems so sweet. And a soft gay icon.”

“Whereas Sims is a  _ sharp  _ gay icon,” Annabelle joked. “I’m hyped for Academic Competiton to start. I miss his incessant grumbling and all those rants about random shit he knows. Jane,  _ please  _ join ACC this year?”

Jane wrapped an arm around Annabelle and pulled them a little closer. “I’m sorry, but it’ll have to just be you two again this year. My parents want me to get a job, I’m not sure I’ll have the time for a commitment like that, especially with drama too,” she said, much to Annabelle’s disappointment. 

“I’ve got to get a job too, save up some money for university- lord knows my parents don’t exactly have riches in a bank vault locked away for my uni fund.” 

Agnes’s mom hadn’t told her to get a job, but she knew she should. After the fire two years before, they’d never quite recovered- how could they? So the two of them lived in their shitty flat, living paycheck to paycheck from her mom’s work. Maybe if Agnes also had an income, it could help. “You know, I should as well,” she said.

Annabelle smiled, her legs bouncing up and down slightly. “All three of us could find a job at the same place!” 

“Well, for  _ now, _ ” Jane said, unzipping her backpack, “we should get back to homework. We’ve stalled long enough.”

“ _ Ugh _ .” Annabelle flopped down on her back, hitting the bed with a bounce. 

Around 5:30, Agnes finally shoved the last bit of completed homework in her backpack. The work wouldn’t have taken nearly as long, but Annabelle insisted on being a general nuisance (like usual) and Jane made them have water and snack breaks. Like usual. 

“Okay, guys, I think I’m gonna dip,” Agnes said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I want to make dinner before my mom gets home.”

“ _ Fine _ , by responsible or whatever. Disgusting,” Annabelle huffed.

Jane rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you Monday, Agnes. Say hi to your mom for me.”

“Will do!” Agnes finished goodbyes and then went downstairs, waving to Jane’s parents before leaving.

Early September was Agnes’s favorite time of year. The heat had subsided just enough from August, leaving her comfortably warm as she passed down the empty suburban streets. The sun hadn’t yet begun to set, and so the light fell on her from above, dappled through the trees. It brightened the red of her hair and gave it the look of a soft glow.

The walk home from Jane’s house was usually a short one. Today, however, Agnes relished the tranquility in the air, disturbed only by the occasional car passing by. She took the long route, winding down a few unnecessary streets. Her mom wouldn’t be home for a while- mostly, she’d just wanted to leave to have some alone time.

On this meandering route, Agnes happened to pass by a park. Well, it was called a ‘park,’ but really only consisted of a lake and surrounding grass and trees. The lake extended into a small stream that split the park in half. A few benches dotted the landscape, some picnic tables as well.

Usually, not many people were in this park. It was hidden nicely away behind blocks of houses, sequestered in a pocket of residency. Agnes liked this park. She’d spent many hours there after she and her mother moved to this town, back in the summer before ninth grade.

This is why Agnes was surprised when the smell of smoke hit her. She looked around, and with a start, noticed a figure sat on a bench near the sidewalk. They relaxed against the back of the bench, one knee propped up on the seat.

The figure turned their head her way, and they locked eyes. It took a moment for Agnes to realize she was looking at Jude Perry. 

She stopped. And then immediately regretted it. What was there to do now? She’d stopped walking to stare at Jude like some fucking  _ weirdo _ , and Jude noticed. Could she just continue on? No, that would be weirder. Best to acknowledge it.

Agnes stepped over the curb and into the park, feeling the soft squish of grass beneath her shoes. She walked down a gentle hill and stopped a few feet away from the bench.

“Sorry, I just… didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jude had a lit cigarette in her mouth, and then held it out, releasing a puff of smoke. “Why not?” She dropped her leg from the bench and moved over, just enough. Agnes still just stood there, stiff.

“I don’t know, I just- I’ve never seen you here before,” she said. Maybe this had been a mistake.

“I come here a lot. Nice place to think.” Jude had no aversion to eye contact, staring directly at her. Agnes couldn’t shy away from her gaze, feeling pinned to the spot, watching how the yellow sunlight reflected on the shine of Jude’s hair.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Agnes could have walked away, and she knew that. So she instead took off her bag and sat down next to Jude, keeping multiple feet between them. She looked out into the park, bursting with green, little bits of nature floating and glowing through the air. “You, uh- you smoke?”

Jude took a drag of her cigarette, and then breathed out. “Yeah. I know it’s shit for my body and all that, and the taste isn’t great, but I like the feeling.”

“The feeling?”

“The  _ fire.  _ I like the burning. Feels… alive.”

Agnes thought about candles, lit in her bedroom. She thought of a wall of fire and of smoke and choking and suffocation. She thought of the screaming and then the silence. Even after that, she understood. Fire feels  _ alive,  _ and some people need the burn. 

“I get it,” Agnes said. “The glow of it. The destruction. You need it.”

Jude looked at her from the side, brown eyes a fiery gold in the sun. “If there’s nothing else I can destroy, why not myself. It ends in smoke all the same,” she said.

“I’ve destroyed.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. And it destroys yourself too. I think you’ve just cut out the middleman.”

Jude leaned back and looked at the sky. “Huh.”

Agnes stood and put her backpack on again. She looked back at Jude, about to say goodbye, but stopped. She had the cigarette back in her mouth and stared up. Glanced at Agnes once, nodded, and then resumed looking at the sky. 

So, Agnes left. The park felt even quieter, now, and Agnes breathed in the smoke, filling her with heat and an instinctive fear.

God, Jude was going to destroy her insides. 

But Agnes realized- Jude seemed okay with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> by the way, not all chapters will necessarily be both Martin and Agnes, and some may be in a different order. just lettin y'all know. 
> 
> stay funky, my dudes! Yeehaw


	3. 9/09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for alcohol.  
> i don't quite know why or how this chapter went this way. i didn't plan for any of it. just let these idiot characters take me where they wanted to go, and this is what happens. morons  
> sorry for the shorter length of this chapter- it's only Martin, that's why!

-Martin Blackwood-

-9/09-

  
  


Martin stared into the bathroom mirror, moving his hair in miniscule ways. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he needed to look good tonight. Perhaps he just wanted to make a good impression on his coworkers- people he hoped would become good friends.

Sasha had texted him and said they were meeting at the bar at 9:00, later than Martin had expected. He’d thought that grabbing a couple drinks with some work friends would be a seven thirty or eight kind of event, but when he’d messaged back and implied this, she simply responded with  _ That’s not how we roll ;). _

So, there he was, finally settled with his appearance and ready to go. Martin had only grabbed his keys when a horn honked sharply from outside his flat. He jumped a little, and then went to the door, staring incredulously through the small window at the top. An old, small car was rumbling by the curb. 

He pushed the door open and stepped out. The window of the car slowly rolled down, as if done by a crank- considering the age of the car, that was likely. 

Tim poked his head out of the window. “Get in loser, we’re going drinking!”

Martin paled. Was he already drunk? Before they even got to the bar? Who was driving the car? With these questions in mind, Martin walked down the stairs and to the side of the car. He stooped slightly to look at Tim. 

“I thought we were meeting at the bar?”

He shrugged. “We figured this would be fun for your first time out with us. Gotta make it special, right?”

Martin looked further into the car, where Sasha was behind the wheel. “How did you find my house?” he asked.

Sasha flashed him a smile. “I have my ways.”

Sighing, Martin opened the backseat door and sat down on what was half cushion and half duct tape. He breathed in an unmistakable floral scent and admired the cleanliness of the car, despite, you know, the tape.

“Wait- are you already drunk?”

“We’re not on the clock, Martin,” Tim said, laughing. “This is just how we are. I suggest not questioning it.”

Martin clicked his seatbelt in place and got ready for what he could already tell would be a  _ very  _ interesting night. 

He leant back in his seat through the drive, not having to make much attempt at conversation because Tim had the aux and was  _ blasting  _ music through the old and grainy speakers of the car. They seemed to know every word of the same songs, shouting along with exaggerated movements as Sasha bopped the car down the roads. 

Martin was content to watch them, shouting  _ Take me to your best friend’s house, I loved you then and I love you now!  _ and opening the windows. A few times, Tim turned to the backseat and Martin laughed at his headbanging, trying to join in whenever he recognized a song. 

All too soon, the car sputtered to a stop in a parking lot. Tim cut the music and the sudden onset of quiet felt a little like an attack. Sasha turned to face him in the back. “Aren’t you glad you came with us? You’ll see, we’re always the life of the party.”

Tim stretched back in his seat. “We try to be chill, but tonight is your first of many and we’ve gotta make it  _ count _ . Don’t worry, no body shots though!” He threw a couple finger guns to Martin with a snap. “Unless you want them.”

Martin snorted. “I’m quite alright on that front, I think.”

“Boring.” Tim stepped out of the car and opened Martin’s door, moving aside and bowing. “M’lady.”

Sasha stood from her seat and glared at Tim from across the roof of the car. “I see how it is, Timothy,” she said.

When Martin got out, stifling a laugh, Tim closed the door. “You would call me a ‘nice guy,’ and I’m not looking for those negative vibes tonight.”

As they entered the bar, a smaller building with trendy brick walls and dim lights, Melanie waved at them from the corner. She sat next to Daisy and Basira, who were in chairs placed around two tables pushed together. 

“Glad you could make it, Martin,” Basira said. Martin sat down next to Melanie, no one yet on his left side. 

“Did these two physically endanger you at all on the way here?” Daisy asked. “Specifically Tim.”

He glared at her, and Martin looked between the two. “I- I don’t think so?”

Melanie snorted. “Thank  _ god,  _ that relic Sasha drives around is a safety hazard on its own,” she said.

Sasha, yet to sit down, crossed her arms. “It’s vintage! Stop bullying my piece of rubbish car.”

Tim and Sasha sat down next to each other, and Martin watched them have some sort of silent conversation, Tim leaning a little closer and Sasha pulling away with hesitance. They had some weird sort of dance going on and Martin just couldn’t figure it out. 

Looking at the empty chairs, there seemed to be two left- who hadn’t yet arrived? Oliver, he knew, should soon be at the cramped tables, but he couldn’t remember anyone else who had been invited to come. Maybe they just got the wrong number. 

The bar looked to be popular with younger people, Martin’s age or a little below. Considering that it was a Saturday night, quite a few people were drinking and chatting at tables. The room began to fill with the low and buzzing tone of conversation that always made Martin feel alive. It had been a very long time since he’d done something like this. 

The door opened and in stepped two figures, shadowed in the dim light over the door. As they came closer to the group’s table, Martin could see who they were. Oliver and- and  _ Jon.  _ Well, the’d gotten the right number of chairs. 

“None of you said  _ Jon  _ was going to be here,” Martin hissed, moments before the two men would come into earshot. There was a mixed response of shrugging and incredulous eyebrows. 

Oliver looked incredible in a slim cut, buttoned shirt, although just a bit  _ unbuttoned.  _ Jon seemed to avoid Oliver’s eyes- and the rest of him. 

“Came together, I see?” Tim asked, with a look in his eyes that Martin didn’t like.

Jon scoffed. “I- I, uh, no, we- we didn’t come  _ together _ I-”

Oliver put a hand on his shoulder, and Jon went stiff. “No, Tim, we did not. Sorry to disappoint,” he said. 

They sat down next to each other. Jon scooted his chair away, barely by anything but Martin noticed. He seemed to notice a lot, like how Jon had all his hair down, unlike the half-tied look he seemed to sport on school days. A soft looking turtleneck jumper hung loosely off him. Martin looked back at the others again. 

“Aight, I need alcohol,” Tim said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Sash, Jon, be my assistants?”

They nodded and stood, beginning to walk to the bar until Tim turned around. “Ah, sorry, forgot we’ve got a newcomer- Martin, drink of choice?” he asked. 

“Uh, just a Sidecar?”

Tim dipped his head. “You got it, my dude.”

When the three of them had left, Martin leaned into the rest of the group. “Is there something between them? Tim and Sasha, I mean?”

The others looked at each other. “Rumor has it they hooked up a couple times last year,” Basira said. “Sasha seems a little embarrassed about it, but Tim still tries to ‘woo’ her. We’ll see what happens.”

“This is why we drink,” Oliver laughed. “That, and the kids.”

“How are you doing with your classes?” Basira asked. Martin watched her put an arm around Daisy, who moved closer.

Martin smiled, thinking of the (hopefully) good impressions he’d had on the kids throughout the first three days of school. “Great- I think! Even in the CP classes, there are- there are lots of really intelligent kids. They make connections, you know? It’s wonderful to see how their minds work. There are a few- well,  _ interesting  _ students as well. Do any of you have Michael?”

Oliver nodded. “He is indeed quite the- the  _ colorful  _ one. Wonderfully artistic as well- Helen’s favorite student. I believe he’ll be joining me in GSA on Tuesday.”

“Who’s Helen?” Martin asked. He still had quite a few names to learn. 

“Art teacher- purple hair, a little older, smiles like an optical illusion?” Daisy said, head on Basira’s shoulder.

Martin remembered that woman from the lounge room, which made sense. His instincts of her being an art teacher had been correct. “Ah, yeah- I think I saw her the other day, talking to another older man.”

“Probably Lietner,” Basira said. “They’re pretty good friends- he’s our librarian. Kind of a weird dude, but good at his job. I guess that’s most of us, though.”

Martin racked his brain for people he’d been curious about in the past three days. The memory of Jon the day before, smoking against the school building, reappeared in his thoughts. “Ah, who’s uh- who’s Gertrude?”

“The nurse. All-business type, don’t interact without a reason,” Oliver said. Martin nodded, thankful for their knowledge of faculty. 

“Anyone else I should know about?”

“You’ve already met Elias, I’m sure, so you know how much of a condescending asshole  _ he  _ is,” Daisy said. “I still don’t know how or why he managed to become the principal of our school.”

Martin was about to respond when his drink was placed in front of him. He looked up to Sasha, Jon, and Tim each carefully balancing a few glasses. They delivered the drinks to each person around the table- damn, they must have been doing this for a while to know everyone’s orders. 

“So-” Tim sat back down in his chair, rather dramatically- “I’m aware that we are usually a more  _ chill  _ group, and don’t exactly get ‘wild,’ but we are A) celebrating the start of the year and B) indoctrinating another member into our teacher cult, so I believe those things warrant a proper  _ good time _ .”

Martin held up his hands. “I did not agree to being part of a cult.”

“Did you sign a contract and become a faculty member of Magnus?” Basira asked. Martin nodded hesitantly. 

Jon sighed and stirred his drink. “Then you are a part of this- this cult,” he said. The others looked at him in surprise. “I’m not blind to reality.”

Sasha lifted her glass. “I’ll drink to that!” 

They clinked their glasses together and downed some of the liquid inside. Martin felt a pleasant burn run down his throat, one that signified the start of a  _ night.  _

  
  


“And then and then and  _ then-  _ I kid you the fuck not, this kid’s phone goes through the fucking  _ ceiling tile  _ and it and it makes a huge ass hole and he catches it ON HIS BACK and- and-” Melanie dissolved into hysterical laughter, wiping a tear from her eye as the others laughed along. 

“Did the- did the phone- did it break?” Tim asked between laughing breaths. Melanie shook her head.

“ _ Nooo _ ! Only my- my goddamn ceiling! The hole is still there!”

Martin was fairly certain he hadn’t drank  _ too  _ much. Not enough to be blackout or anything. But enough that some of the more sensible parts of his brain had been turned off, and all the lights seemed a little brighter, the laughter of his friends a little louder. 

Considering their intoxicated state, the laughter was also truly louder.

“Okay,” Melanie said, calming herself down. “I, uh- I need to go to the bathroom.”

Basira got up as well. “So do I- we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Daisy moved her chair out of the way so the other two women could walk past her. When they’d gone through the door to the bathroom, Daisy leaned in closer to the rest, nearly knocking over her drink. 

“Heyhey- hey guys,” she whispered. The five of them looked at her. “I’m gonna propose.”

“To Basira?” Oliver asked, taking another sip of his drink. 

Daisy rolled her eyes. “ _ No,  _ Oliver, to Tim. Yeah I’m proposing to Basira.”

Martin looked around the bar again, filled with more people now that it was after ten thirty, the lights turned lower. “ _ Here _ ?” he asked in disbelief.

“Nononono, but sometime though, sometime soon I think? And it’s- it, it, it gotta be  _ perfect  _ you know? Because- because, Basira’s family isn’t too big on the lesbians and if we’re gonna uh get married then I gotta show it’s- it’s worth it you know?”

“I’m sure Basira will say yes, no matter how you propose,” Jon said.

But Tim’s eyebrows rose, and he looked offended. “Basira’s, uh, her family they don’t- they don’t- like gay people? Ew! Why not?”

Daisy shrugged. “Big- big religious types, you know? God hates the gays and such,” she said.

“I’m gonna fight God.” Tim ended this with one nod, as if that solidified his statement. 

Jon put his head in his hands. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

That was the first time Martin had heard Jon swear, and he wanted him to do it again. But Martin did not have much time to dwell on this thought. 

“You- you heard me! I’m gonna- I’m gonna fight God! Fuck him up real good!” Tim pushed his chair away from the table and stood quickly, fists at his sides. 

Oliver snorted. “Let the man fight God,” he said, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon looked at him, in a direction where Martin couldn’t see his expression. Jon soon pulled away from the touch, but not without some hesitation. 

“Tim, what dumbass shit are you about to do?” Sasha asked. He threw another one of his charming smiles at her, lopsided and suggestive. She slammed back the end of her drink- quite obviously because of his antics.

“I ain’t no coward!” he said.

Basira and Melanie returned to the table. Melanie looked up and down Tim’s stance, and then pointed at him. “What is this idiot gonna do?”

Jon still had his hand on his face. “Fight God, apparently.”

“Hell  _ yeah  _ I am!”

Sasha stared straight down at the table. “For someone who ‘parties’ so much, you have a low alcohol tolerance.”

“Not true,” Tim said. “I’m just- just- more fun than any of you! You should be glad we’re not doing, uh, doin’  _ shots  _ tonight because I’d smoke you bitches.”

“You’re wrong but I’ll- I’ll- I’ll fight God with you!” Daisy stood up as well. “Bitch needs a  _ vibe check _ .”

Martin had no idea how to respond to any of this, and instead ended up sitting back and watching the show unfold, fascinated by these human beings.

Tim began toward the door, and Daisy followed closely behind. With apprehensive glances to each other, the remaining six went after them to hopefully dilute the potency of their idiocy. Martin stepped outside into the human night, watching Tim and Daisy run to the middle of the parking lot. 

Martin remained on the bit of sidewalk outside the door to the bar. Tim raised a fist into the air. “God! You fucking coward! Come face us!” he shouted to the sky.

“You think you’re- you’re such  _ hot shit _ !” Daisy yelled. She aimed her face up as well.

On the sidewalk, Basira whispered, “What is my girlfriend  _ doing _ ?”

“You’re due for a vibe check!” Tim shouted. As the two of them continued to essentially scream into the air, the other six turned to face each other. 

“Martin, it usually isn’t like- like this,” Jon said, expression flat. 

“Then what’s it like?” Martin asked. 

Jon sighed. “No, actually, it often gets like this. I don’t think they’ve quite reached this level of delusion before, though.”

There were continued shouts in the background of their conversation, and every so often, Martin would turn to look at the two gym teachers in the parking lot, circling like sharks. He sincerely hoped they were far enough from school to lessen the chance of any students witnessing this. 

Someone in black attire and with a name tag stepped out of the bar and walked over to Tim and Daisy. Martin moved out of the way so they could pass. They said something to the two, who looked at each other and laughed, but nodded their heads. 

When the person went back inside, Tim and Daisy walked over to the others, holding in giggles. “We’ve- we’ve been asked to leave,” Daisy said, letting out a bit of laughter at the end. Her drunk self was a stark opposite to her usual, sober self. 

Sasha sighed. “Tim, you and I getting an Uber?”

He nodded, still trying to stifle some laughter. 

Martin was very excited to be good friends with these people. It didn’t matter that, as Oliver and Jon departed from the group together, Martin felt a strange sinking in his stomach. Didn’t mean anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when trying to make a semblance of a plan for this chapter, I asked @lemoncardboard what shenanigans they should be up to and she said "fight god?" and i said Okay  
> this chapter has a very different vibe than the rest of them but honestly? i'm chill with that. i missed writing about the Spooky Lesbians though. poll for the people: anyone else a lesbian and absolutely in love with Jude Perry because that's me and i'm not ashamed  
> yeehaw


	4. 9/12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks!! i edited about half this chapter, and then just decided, hey, fuck the rest! i'm very professional. anyway, i had quite a bit of fun writing this one and i hope you have fun reading it

-Agnes Montague-

-9/12-

_spooky lesbians_

sent at 1:38 AM

 **janey:** annabelle i love you but could you please stop spamming me with worm on string memes it’s one in the morning

 **me:** did you guys Have to take this to the group chat or

 **spider bitch:** W O R M O N S T R I N G

 **me:** you’re fucking insufferable

 **spider bitch:** BOW TO YOUR GOD

 **janey:** agnes help i’m scared

 **me:** annabelle. Go to Bed you’re annoying jane

 **spider bitch:** HaHaHa Mortal

 **janey:** is she ok?

 **Me:** it’s annabelle??? what constitutes ‘okay’

 **spider bitch:** i am BAKED like a goddamn CROISSANT

 **spider bitch:** HIGH LIKE AN ASCENDING WORM ON STRING

 **spider bitch:** feelin GOOD

 **me:** stop simping for worm on string and go to sleep

 **spider bitch:** Was I wrong for thinking dear Jane would like worm on string??? She likes worms agnes worms worms

 **janey:** please don’t turn this on me i only want peace

 **spider bitch:** Join me for worm

 **me:** what. what does that MEAN

 **spider bitch:** Someday, you will all see. You will regret these words, jane u like worm? Worm worm! Make worm bucket yeah

 **janey:** i like my worm bucket!! they’re nice, i connect with them

 **me:** i’m going to leave you both on read

 **spider bitch:** Your fear is pitiful

 **me:** fuck you, goodnight

 **janey:** see you both tomorrow!

 **me:** unfortunately!

\- - - - - - - - - -

Agnes pulled out her phone and checked the notifications. She clicked on her texts and checked the group chat- nothing yet. She slid the phone back in her pocket.

“No word yet from Jane,” she said, leaning her back against a long blue locker. “How high did you _get_ last night?”

Annabelle gave her a wry smile. “None of your business.”

Jane had gone to pick up a project from Hopworth’s classroom- she, of course, was the only student to genuinely want to keep a sewing project from Home Ec. They waited in the hallway for her, knowing she wouldn’t want to walk into the first GSA meeting late _and_ alone. So, Agnes told her to text them when she was on her way.

For the first time at Magnus, Mr. Banks was creating a GSA club. Flyers had been hung all over the school- _Come join us for GSA! Be a part of the change! Meetings held on Tuesdays during advisory!_ Naturally, as a girl who very much liked girls, Agnes was keen to join. This held true for Annabelle and Jane as well. 

“Jane!” Annabelle said. Agnes turned to look down the hallway, where Jane was half-jogging to them, a folded blanket tucked under one arm.

“Sorry- I tried to get here as fast as I could,” she said between heavy breaths.

Agnes shook her head. “No, it’s fine- let’s just try and get there quick, yeah?”

The three of them speed walked through the hall and down a flight of stairs, stopping at Banks’s door. Agnes looked at the others with nervous smiles and then pulled it open.

Agnes was greeted by the sight of only four students, scattered around the room and all sat at their desks in increasingly interesting ways. A boy dressed in all black, quite obviously goth with platform shoes and an MCR shirt, had one foot up on the desk and his arms crossed. Another girl with _very_ clear, smooth skin sat rigid straight in her seat with a fixed small smile. 

The others in the room, Agnes knew, at least vaguely. She was happy to see Michael in there- one leg propped up on his seat and a hand under his chin. Then there was Julia, a girl she’d talked to a few times because of drama club.

Mr. Banks stood at the front of the classroom, about to say something. Then he looked over to where the trio stood in the doorway. Banks spread his arms a little and smiled. “You guys made it! Wonderful! Come on in, girls,” he said. The three sat down at their usual desks in physics class, right next to each other. 

“Right.” Banks hoisted himself onto the long table that ran across the front of the classroom. “So, thank you all for coming to the first meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance- or, GSA,” he said. “Do you guys all know each other?”

Agnes looked around- there were the two she didn’t know. The other students generally responded with an _eh._ At least they were on the same page. 

“Well, that’s not quite a yes, so how about we go around and say our names? As well as grade level, and since we’re GSA, gender identity or sexuality if you’re comfortable with that.”

Banks gestured to where Michael sat, closest to himself. Today, Michael looked rather dazzling in a loose floral romper. He nodded. 

“If you must know me as such, I am Michael, and you may call me what you like- he, she, they, etcetera, they do each have their own _flavor._ I restrict myself to no such guidelines in thought or passion. Sophomore.” 

Banks pursed his lips and nodded. “Well put? Ah, um, anyway- can we continue around the classroom?” he asked. Agnes nearly laughed- Mr. Banks wore the expression of a deer in the headlights, as one often does after talking to Michael. Cool kid, that one.

The goth kid spoke up, tucking a long strand of black hair behind his ear. “Gerard, but you can call me Gerry. Sophomore as well. I’m- I uh, go by he/him. And I like… yeah.” After speaking, Gerry folded his arms a little closer to himself and slouched in his chair. 

“I’m Julia. I’m a senior, female, and a lesbian,” Julia said, not seeming all too eager to speak for long. She had a more butch vibe, one Agnes always liked. Maybe she should try to talk to Julia more. 

“I’m Nikola!” The other girl exclaimed, still stiff and straight. She said it with a large smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Agnes shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Mr. Banks nodded. “Would you like to… share anything else?”

Nikola blinked once, waited, and then blinked again. Then she shook her head.

Aching to diffuse the weird tension in the room, Agnes decided to introduce herself. “Um, I’m Agnes- I’m a junior, and I identify as a girl. I’m bisexual.” The other two went next, Annabelle and Jane both saying they were gay. 

“Well, I thank you all for doing that- I swear we won’t be doing any more icebreakers or things in that realm. I figured that, with the rest of advisory today, we can figure out what _you_ all would like to accomplish with this club this year. I’m sure there’s a lot to do, so let’s get started!”

\- - - - - - - - - -

_spooky lesbians_

sent at 3:24 PM

 **spider bitch:** Janeyyyy there are still 6 minutes left for you to come to ACC!!!!!!!

 **janey:** i’m so sorry i would but i don’t want to get too stressed! and i don’t know enough :(

 **spider bitch:** NONSENSE nobody knows more about bugs n shit than you do

 **me:** i mean,,, that i s a rather niche area of expertise

 **spider bitch:** Sims always tells that story about how his weird knowledge of the history of medieval scimitars helped his team win the last question they needed to break a championship tie. Niche is good

 **janey:** i will support you both but i would really rather not join ACC

 **spider bitch:** Not even to make fun of Sims and his peculiar vats of useless facts?

 **me:** not gonna lie that is a pretty fun part of the club

 **janey:** if it’s any consolation, i’ll help you guys study for quiz bowls?

 **spider bitch:** Awww ok fine. You’re the sweetest <3

 **me:** stop being a lesbian on main put your phone away sims is starting

Agnes discreetly dropped her phone back into her backpack. She sat on the floor with her back propped up against it, next to Annabelle in the small circle of students. Other than them, they had only two teammates- Michael and Jack.

Jack was only a freshman, but he’d been chasing after Agnes since she came to the high school. At first, his attempts had just been something to laugh about with her friends. She was nice enough to him when they interacted, politely accepting Valentine’s gifts and desperately trying to make him get the hints. Unfortunately, he didn’t, and now he joined ACC. As one of the only four members. 

Agnes’s thoughts were pulled from Jack as she looked to Sims, who also sat cross legged on the ground. They were in a circle at the back of his history classroom. Just from looking at the room, you could tell he’d been teaching there for years- countless papers were hung up, and a big section of one wall was entirely devoted to countless post-its and pictures connected with red string. 

No one knew _what_ exactly was connected by the red string in Sims’s classroom, but there were many guesses in the student population. Agnes doubted that Sims even knew himself at this point.

They could’ve sat at desks, but somewhere along the way in past years of ACC, they’d all started congregating on the floor underneath the window sills. This year was no exception. Sims had a clipboard and scribbled something down on it, one hand entangled in his messy long hair. 

He looked up and pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “So, uh- Agnes, Annabelle, Michael, you all participated last year in ACC- who are you again?” Sims asked, looking at Jack. He never was one for extensive social tact.

Jack swallowed nervously. Damn, Agnes remembered the days when she actually felt intimidated by Sims. “I’m- I’m Jack.”

Sims nodded and wrote something down on his clipboard. He had a way of writing that always resulted in a loud scratching noise. “Right, well, uh- no need to dawdle then, is there? Welcome to Academic Competition. I know you three are gifted with extensive wells of knowledge.” He gestured to Agnes, Annabelle, and Michael. Then he turned to Jack. “Let’s hope that you are as well. We’ll need it.”

“If we’re going to get to get to nationals this year, we, we- we can’t rely _solely_ on the factors of our intelligence, we’ll- we’ll uh, need to establish more… _concrete_ tactics to strategize our games. However, that does not mean, under any circumstances, that you should cease your attempts to gain more knowledge of our use. In fact, I- I implore you to do so.”

 _Nationals._ Last year, the team only made it to regionals, losing on their last qualification to advance. It had been a major disappointment, but this year, Agnes was determined to do better. 

Annabelle’s knee brushed hers, and Agnes pushed closer, knowing they were both thinking about the more lacking aspects of the previous year. 

“Mr. Sims?” Agnes asked.

Sims’s head snapped up to look at her. “Yes, Agnes?”

“When’s our first district bowl?”

Sims glanced to the ceiling, thinking. “Ah- November, I believe, but the rounds move fairly quickly after that point,” he said. 

Agnes nodded. By November, she’d be busy- between drama, ACC, school, and hopefully having a job by then, dedication to all of her commitments would be difficult. But she was determined to make it work. She’d handled worse before. 

An hour later, Agnes left ACC practice with a list of new topics to research and a strong hope for the coming year. She walked down the halls with Annabelle, talking about Sims’s various new idiosyncrasies. They spent a few minutes at Annabelle’s locker and then went to the bathroom. On their way again, they turned a corner and stopped. 

She’d nearly collided with Jude, who was leaving the library and looking down at a small stack of papers. Jude startled and looked up at Agnes, Annabelle standing frozen beside her. 

“I- ah, sorry,” Agnes said, stepping to the side. Jude bit her bottom lip in apprehension.

Agnes caught a brief glance at the papers Jude held. Paragraphs and paragraphs were written out on them, obviously just printed out from the library. She saw Agnes look and held the papers a little closer. “It’s fine.”

She remembered the conversation they’d had on the park bench on Friday- the memory seemed to be resurfacing in Jude’s mind as well. They both broke off eye contact and looked down. “I’ll just- sorry, I’ll just uh…”

Jude glanced at her, turned, and walked off in an opposite direction. As Agnes and Annabelle started walking again, the moment felt heavy between them.

“What happened there?” Annabelle asked, opening the door for Agnes. They stepped out into the parking lot.

“I’m not sure? We- we had a conversation the other day, so I think it might be just- a little awkward. That’s all. Why do you think she was in the library?”

Annabelle shrugged. “I have no idea. Doubt Lietner was all that happy, though- he hates when anyone prints in there.”

“Yeah. I- I don’t know.”

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - 

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-9/12-

“Ah- here you go,” Martin said. He handed a small stack of papers to the student. She took them and held them against her chest. When Martin had first seen Jude in his AP class, he’d been surprised, and then immediately felt bad for judging her. Just because she looked rather- _intimidating-_ did not mean she wasn’t a good student. 

He felt a little less bad about his first instinct when, sitting in the lounge room at lunch, he learned of Jude’s reputation. Apparently she made a habit of skipping classes or being uncooperative. For some reason, though, in Martin’s class, she never skipped. She didn’t volunteer to answer questions, but she listened and wrote with admirable focus. 

Monday, the day before, he’d found out why when Jude walked into his classroom during advisory. He hadn’t been expecting any students and had to quickly turn off his music- the loudest part of the Red Signal chant. Oops. 

Jude had stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked at him with an almost-glare, just aggressive enough to unsettle. But she didn’t speak with any anger. 

Her visit resulted in him scrolling through a Google Doc an hour and a half later, reading and rereading lines of a story. Jude was a talented writer. There was some crudeness to her style- maybe from a possible lack in her determination to read- but the words pulled Martin in. There was a sadness to them and a relatability to her characters.

Martin agreed to help with her writing, despite them barely knowing each other. A pride swelled in his chest when he realized that she must have deemed him approachable enough to ask for this kind of assistance. Then again, she didn’t seem scared of all that much.

This is how he ended up standing next to Jude in the school library, printing out her latest work after the day was over. Martin pushed down the urge to tell Jude to correct her posture- slightly slouched, arms folded across her chest. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and then turned to leave. Her hand was nearly on the door when Martin called to her. 

“It’s- It’s really good, you know! It’s good, Jude.”

Jude stopped, and then looked back over her shoulder. She nodded once and then left. 

Martin liked that one.

“Please do not raise your voice in the library.” A man sitting behind a desk against the wall looked up at Martin through small glasses. There was a book in front of him, as well as a large computer monitor. Martin took a few steps closer to him.

“I- sorry!” he said, nearly whispering, despite the fact that there was no one else in the library. This must be the Lietner his coworkers spoke of. “I just- just uh, figured that nobody else was here- sorry.”

Lietner looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “There _is_ someone else here, and I encourage you to be more conscious of this in the future, Mr-” he glanced at Martin’s faculty bage- “Blackwood.”

Martin didn’t appreciate being talked down to like this, as old as Lietner looked, but decided it wasn’t worth an altercation. “ _Right.”_

He surveyed the library, not seeing anyone else there- what was Lietner talking about? The library didn’t have any tall bookshelves or obstructions. From one point in the large room, you could essentially see the rest.

Oh. There he was. Hidden away in a corner of the library, hunched over a table. Jon scribbled quickly on pieces of paper, every so often turning back to a small pile of books he had. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and peered closer to a book. Martin noticed him chew on the end of his pen, engrossed in the reading. 

Martin should just… leave, right? Of course he should leave. Jon didn’t look to want to be disturbed, and Martin told himself, no matter what he felt urged to do, he would avoid Jon when possible. It was better to stay loose acquaintances than have Jon hate him.

All that may have been true, but Jon was sitting next to the poetry section of the library. And Martin had been wanting to check out the poetry books available at Magnus. He could just come back later, though, when Jon wasn’t working there. 

Martin found himself walking to the poetry shelf and didn’t stop himself. He stopped in front of the shelf and made a point to look only at the books, not at Jon just a table away. There were books from all the classics- Whitman, Frost, Dickinson, Poe, Keats, Hughes- but collections from a few lesser known poets as well, like Emma Lazarus and Thomas Hood. 

Looking through all the volumes, Martin genuinely forgot that Jon was sitting nearby until he heard the frenzied writing. Martin looked away from a Keats collection he held and turned to look at him.

It wasn’t clear if Jon had even noticed him, still bent over multiple books and writing things down on papers scattered about the table. Martin shut his book and put it back on the shelf. He took a step closer to Jon.

“Oh, I- uh- hey Jon!” he said, as if noticing him for the first time.

Jon barely lifted his head. His eyes snapped up to Martin, though, pen still pressed against the paper. “Ah. Martin.”

Martin ran a nervous hand through his hair, fingers caught in his curls. “I was just- just uh, looking at the poetry, so…” he cleared his throat. “What are you.. working on?”

“Just a- a project of mine,” Jon said. “So- you like- _poetry_.” He said ‘poetry’ with a particularly disdainful tone, and Martin remembered why he swore off talking to Jon in the first place. Obviously, he hadn’t done well to keep that promise to himself. 

“Yes, actually! I, uh- I’m a big fan. Of a lot of poets. It’s actually, uh, what got me into literature really? Yeah. I’ve- I’ve always liked poetry. Are you… are you a, um, poetry fan?” Martin stammered out. He cringed at himself- why couldn’t he just speak like a normal person around Jon?

“ _Poetry_? Ah, no, uh- no. I am not a fan of poetry.”

Of course he wasn’t. Jon probably saw himself above the often stereotypical form of poetry, what with its dramaticism and metaphors. He probably liked dry, informational nonfiction. That would make sense- Martin heard that Jon ran the Academic Competition Club. 

“I like more nonfiction. Poetry has always felt rather pointless to me,” Jon said.

Martin would’ve laughed at the accuracy of what Jon just said to his own thoughts, if not for the offense he felt. “Really- _pointless_?” Martin asked sharply, leaning against the bookshelf next to him. 

Jon looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to be questioned on this view. “Well- yes. It’s time consuming, is it not? To me, poetry seems like the art of going around what you really want to say. Just say what you mean- the unnecessary complications are pointless.”

“I- I-” Martin began, attempting to find how to articulate his thoughts. “The thing about poetry is that- well, I mean- some emotions can’t just be stated outright, can they? We- we’re _complex_ creatures, and sometimes those thoughts can’t really- fit into nice little boxes? The metaphors and figures of speech in poetry, they, they-” Martin looked for the right words- “stand in as simpler substitutions for the deeper things that we feel. Some things just can’t be expressed with statements.”

Jon bit his bottom lip and stared at him, eyes locked in a way that both exhilarated and intimidated Martin. “And yet, some things do not need to be skirted around. Some need to be faced.”

Martin nodded. “That- well, isn’t that up to the person who is feeling those emotions? Before anything else, poetry exists for the writer,” he said.

“Well, it must be a rather selfish art then,” Jon replied. Martin looked down, thinking about this. Were either of them really wrong? 

Again, Jon’s voice felt familiar to Martin, almost comforting. Martin didn’t like that. Despite everything else, Jon’s words filled him with a pleasant feeling, no matter what words they happened to be. He tried to shake off this instinct- the instinct to sink into that voice, rich and warm. Why did it feel so _familiar_?

“I should go,” Martin said. “We, ah- we agree to disagree, then?”

The edge of Jon’s lips quirked up, something alarmingly close to a smile. Martin wasn’t sure he’d seen Jon truly smile before. “For now.”

Something about those two words made even more emotions whirl around in Martin’s brain, and so he took a step back. “I- I, uh, I just- bye, Jon,” he said, and then was hurriedly out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! we're starting to be In It now. be ready for a dozen subplots and a Lot of stuff happening, because that's the vibe here.  
> anyway, again thank you to user lemoncardboard for being my official bad idea filter in all things Magnus Memorial related. they don't even listen to magnus but they still the MVP here. also, i am going to be establishing an update schedule for this fic! i'll be trying to post on Wednesdays and Saturdays- i'll let you guys know if anything changes.  
> stay funky and stay fresh! yeehaw


	5. 9/15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~i do it for the girls and the gays, that's it~  
> did i say i would update on wednesdays and saturdays? yes! is it a tuesday? also yes! i am impatient and i want to update bc serotonin, so suck it schedules

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-9/15-

“Alright, so that’s all you have for the weekend- just make sure to finish up that analysis paragraph. Remember, we start The Crucible on Monday!”

Just as Martin finished speaking, the bell rang over the PA system and he sighed as the students made their exits. He sat back down in the chair behind his desk, ready to refine next week’s grammar assignment during the free period. There was Mechanisms music queued up and ready to go on his phone. But as he watched the students file out the door, he had another thought.

“Ah, Jude- could you stay for a moment?” he asked. The trio of girls leaving the classroom gave each other questioning looks, but he ignored that, watching Jude nod as she got out of her chair in the back.

Jude came up to his desk. “What?”

She possessed such a level of social tact.  _ Anyway. _

“I- I don’t know if you’ve seen, but today is the first book club meeting. During advisory, in my classroom. I know it probably isn’t your usual thing, but reading is important to develop your writing- so if you want to win scholarships, it might be a good idea.” Martin handed her a flyer from his desk.

Before starting the job, Martin learned that his predecessor ran the school’s book club. Technically, he didn’t  _ have  _ to, but he felt a responsibility to carry on the legacy. Even if the club had never been all that popular. Apparently, the old English teacher Mary Keay wasn’t the friendliest woman. No one in the school seemed to have been close with her- Martin hadn’t met anyone distraught over her death.

Jude took the paper. “Right. Thanks, I guess. See you Mr. Blackwood,” she said flatly. Then she was out, and Martin rubbed the side of his head, mulling over that student.

She had talent- true, raw talent. But she couldn’t reach her potential the way she was going. Just two days ago, he heard Basira complain about Jude skipping her statistics class. Sasha kept trying to get Jude to come to guidance, but to no avail. She just simply  _ didn’t. _

And yet, Jude put herself in AP English. Despite her other actions, that showed initiative- it showed that she wanted to be discovered, no matter how often she placed herself at the back of the class or kept her hand down. No matter how much Agnes tried to talk to her, and Jude would shy away in her ‘Jude’ way, acting all badass but really just  _ scared.  _

It was Martin’s job to know his students. Only a week and a half into the school year, he was determined to help Jude.

Well, anyway. Martin plugged in his headphones and clicked on a Ulysses Dies At Dawn song when his door was pushed open. He paused the track, just as Jonny D’Ville was about to start a narration. 

Jon stood in the door, leaning backward as he grappled with holding about eight books. He held the door open with his foot and looked about a second away from toppling over. 

Martin ran to him and, stifling the urge to laugh, took about four books off the top of the stack. Jon relaxed against the doorframe and breathed out heavily. 

“You- you okay there?” Martin asked, letting out a small giggle at the end. He couldn’t help himself. Jon often had a rather ‘unraveled’ energy, hair sticking out of his graying bun in every direction and his clothes hanging loosely off him. The man had a worrying amount of bags under his eyes. Despite this, he somehow remained unfairly attractive.

Jon shifted his arm under the remaining books and used one hand to push his glasses back on his nose. “Ah- sorry. About that. Took a few books from this classroom last year, forgot about them over the summer. I’m returning them.”

This took a moment to process before Martin stepped aside, allowing Jon into the classroom. He set the books down on a desk. Jon bent and straightened his arm a few times, muscles strained from the heavy books. Martin set his own stack down next to them and looked at the titles.

_ The European World, Avicenna: His Life and Works, Mirror in Parchment, The Postcolonial Middle Ages-  _ to name a few of them. In all honesty, Martin didn’t understand what the other half of them even said on the binding. 

“What are these for?” Martin asked. He wiped his hands on his trousers, as some of the books had more than a little dust. 

Jon slid a black hair tie around his wrist. “Just a- a project of mine. Nothing.”

Martin nodded, not wanting to push any further. He’d already gathered that Jon possessed a low opinion of him- he didn’t want to enable it. “Right. Well- thanks for returning them?”

“Yeah, uh, yes. Of course,” Jon said. “Mary Keay was not the best of women, but she did have some interesting books.” Martin may have been mistaken, but there was something of a joking tone in Jon’s voice, which he had not yet heard in a setting without alcohol. Or, who knows, maybe it  _ was  _ the effect of alcohol- one couldn’t be sure. But he didn’t think Jon would do that, and he very much seemed sober otherwise. 

“Speaking of Mary Keay, I’ve been meaning to ask- is Gerard related to her in some way? I didn’t want to ask him, you know, just in case.”

“ _ Gerry _ ,” Jon said quickly. He composed himself. “Apologies, I- that’s just instinct. And… yes. Gerry’s mom- Mary- died last year. He lives with Gertrude now.”

Martin nodded, somber. “I- I see.” Hm. That helped to show why Jon was so protective of Gerard- Gerry. 

Jon leaned his forearms on the desk in front of them. “Thankfully, Gerry is okay, at least on some level. I don’t think the two of them had an ideal relationship. He lost his dad years ago, too. I under- well, I just- I’m here to help him.” A heavy silence filled the air between them. There was something more, something Jon wasn’t saying. 

Again, Martin didn’t want to press the issue. So maybe Jon wasn’t  _ actually  _ as much of a dick as he’d seemed. If they did become something closer than acquaintances, maybe friends (the word made Martin far more nervous than he cared to admit) the depths under the surface would be revealed at some point anyway. 

And if they never became friends, well, then all that shouldn’t matter to Martin anyway. 

“Thank you. For returning the books.”

Jon seemed to snap out of some deeper thought, standing straight again. “Right, right- yes. I should be, ah, getting back. To my classroom, I mean. I’ll- I’ll see you later, Martin.”

Martin grabbed a few of the books, ready to squeeze them in somewhere on his shelves. “Bye, Jon.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Tim clapped him hard on the shoulder. Martin flinched from the impact, but it didn’t hurt, not really. “Mart-o! You ran your first club meeting! How was it? Do you need hard drugs?”

Basira called over from where she sat next to Daisy and Melanie in the lounge, holding a tortilla chip. “We used to be cops, you know.” Melanie held up her hands, in a ‘I had nothing to do with that’ way.

“I  _ do  _ know,” Tim said, pivoting around and shooting finger guns at her. “ACAB, baby.” He turned back to Martin. “Let’s sit down- tell me all about it.”

Martin was ushered to a seat at a table with Tim and Sasha. She held out a bag of grapes to Martin, and he shook his head, declining. She shrugged and popped one in her mouth. “I see you’re still alive?” Tim said, ending in a question. Martin laughed.

“Yes, at least I think I am. It- it wasn’t bad, actually? There weren’t too many kids there- a few I didn’t recognize, Karolina, Leanne, Agnes, and Jack. I tried to get Jude to come, but-” Martin sighed- “she didn’t show up.”

Tim shrugged. “It was  _ Jude Perry _ ,” he said. “Did you really expect her to? I mean, book club?”

“She’s a talented writer. I thought she’d come. I told her that it could help her- well, anyway. It went great, otherwise! They’ve got a month to read Slaughterhouse-Five- I know, I know, but it’s a good one for mid-novel discussion,” Martin said. 

Sasha looked up from her lunch. “Sorry, you said before that Agnes and Jack were both at the meeting?” Martin nodded. “I hope that doesn’t become a problem.”

“Why would it be?”

She sighed. “Well, as a guidance counselor, I know a bit about what goes on between the students. Apparently, Jack has been- just, not the greatest to Agnes in the past. As in, he… seems to be weirdly infatuated with her. For some reason.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Martin said. “I’ll, uh- have to watch out for that?”

Tim patted Martin’s shoulder. “You sure that’s a ‘no’ on the hard drugs?”

As they continued eating, their break time slowly running out, Martin noticed Jon sit down at a table next to theirs. He tried not to watch too blatantly as Jon took out his computer and began hurriedly typing. Martin wasn’t near close enough to see the text on Jon’s screen, but he  _ could  _ see about thirty tabs open. The document he wrote on seemed long.

“...Martin? Hello?”

Martin’s head snapped back to Tim and Sasha across the table. “Ah, sorry, yeah?”

Tim laughed a little. “Kinda zoned out there, pal. Anyway, like I was saying-” Tim continued on talking about something, Sasha emphatically nodding or interrupting at moments. Martin wasn’t really listening. He focused on Oliver, who had just sat down next to Jon. Oliver leaned a little closer to him, and Jon closed the tab he was in, and then shut the laptop. Oliver chuckled.

“What is it that you’ve constantly been writing?” Oliver asked. “I can never get a good look.”

Jon seemed to bristle. “I do not  _ want  _ anyone to get a ‘good look.’ It’s nothing important, just- just assignment stuff.”

Oliver nodded. “Right, well, I won’t make you tell me. Anyway, how was your day?”

Martin tried not to listen in further to what they were saying. He knew that he shouldn’t, so he was stuck not listening to either conversation happening around him, the sound fuzzing out in his head. His mind drifted off to poetry ideas, ones he would immediately write down when back in his classroom. The emotions of them were a little angrier than usual- well, not quite angry, but almost… jealous? He knew he wanted something, and felt like someone else already had it. The feelings were light and hazy, but present. 

He tuned back into Oliver and Jon’s conversation. “You know,” Oliver started, “I think the GSA kids would love it if you paid a visit to the club sometime. I know they all love you- well, at least most. Do you know Nikola?”

Jon shook his head. “No, I haven’t met her.”

“ _ Damn.  _ Haven’t met a single teacher yet who says they have- she definitely goes here, though. Anyway, so will you come sometime?”

“I- I’m not sure,” Jon said. “Won’t that seem… strange?”

“No, I don’t think so- GSA is open to everyone, including teachers, and they’d love to see you there anyway,” Oliver said. Despite the fact that Oliver was kind, attractive, and overall nice to him, Martin  _ really  _ didn’t like him. 

Jon looked at Oliver, something odd in his eyes. “I’ll- I’ll think about it, Oliver.”

The table shifted, bringing Martin back to his own self. Tim stood and stretched. “Well, lunch break is about to be over, so I’ll see you folks later, yeah?”

Sasha was packing up her own lunch. “See you tonight!” she said. “It’s Monopoly today, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Tim said. They finished their goodbyes, Martin halfheartedly contributing, too focused on the conversation he’d overheard to ask about ‘game night.’ 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-9/15-

Agnes stared at the menu, trying to puzzle out the ingredients written in chalk. The drinks at the top were listed with normal titles- lattes, frappuccinos, macchiatos and such. But as her eyes drifted closer to the bottom of the board, the coffees had more ‘specialty’ names. The Spiral, Void Drink, Lightless Flame,  _ Dark Brew  _ (whatever the fuck that was). Agnes swore that ‘fear’ was listed as an ingredient under all of them.

Annabelle’s shoulder bumped into hers as they stood in line. She lifted a ring-covered finger to the menu. “The specialty drinks here are… interesting,” she said. 

Still trying to decipher the menu, Agnes nodded. “I mean, what were we expecting from a place called PanoptiCoffee?”

Jane spoke up from where she stood behind them. “Yeah, isn’t a panopticon a type of prison? It’s where cells are placed in a circular formation around a middle, which can see all of them.”

Annabelle sighed. “ _ This,  _ Jane, is why you need to be in ACC.” Jane looked like she was about to apologize again, but Annabelle didn’t let her have the chance. “It’s fine, darling. I understand- I’m just joking with you.”

As they took another step forward in the line, Agnes thought about the good fortune of this place opening up. All summer, the three of them watched as the new coffee place just a street down from their school was being gradually prepared. They’d all been excited for when the name would be put on a sign outside the building. Understandably, the name  _ PanoptiCoffee  _ was more than a little puzzling. 

Instead of using the school library or Jane’s house like they often did, this Friday, the ‘Spooky Lesbians’ decided to try out the new coffee shop. Agnes, as a lover of spooky things, was enraptured by the decor in the shop. Assumedly fake briars climbed pillars throughout the shop, the lighting was dim even in the afternoon, some of the art hung on the walls was a little more than unsettling. She already loved the place. 

Agnes had an idea. She whipped around to face the other two, smiling. “The three of us all need jobs, right?”

The others looked at each other, and then nodded. 

“What if we work here?” she continued, becoming more excited with each word. “It- it’s so close to school, and they just opened so I’m sure they’re hiring, and maybe we could even work together! It would be perfect!”

Annabelle’s eyes brightened as well. “ _ Hell  _ yes! That would be awesome!” She looked at Jane. “Janey, you in?”

Pursing her lips, Jane shrugged. “It’s a really cool place? And I’m sure it would be great to work here, but I actually submitted an application to the crystal place a couple buildings away. Good Energies,” she said. 

Annabelle pouted. “But having you around would make it better.”

“I doubt they would put three people on shift most of the time anyway,” Jane said. “And since I might be working so close, I’ll come get coffee from you guys while you work!”

Before they could discuss further, the person in front of them in line stepped away. Agnes went up to the counter. A young man, maybe thirty, looked up from behind the cash register and smiled. “Hi! What can I get for you today?”

Agnes glanced up at the menu. “I’ll try a- um- Falling Titan please? Medium.” The man’s name tag read  _ James.  _

He grabbed a cup and scribbled something down on the side. “Your name?”

“Agnes.”

She waited as James rang her up, and then passed over the money. He handed the cup to an even younger man behind him, probably only a few years older than herself. She turned to wait at the end of the counter for her drink, but turned back. “Sorry, uh- are there any positions open right now?”

James looked up from the register, surprised, but then smiled. “Sure! Would you like an application? You could even fill it out while you’re here, if you want- I’m the manager, so we could schedule an interview as well.”

That went well. Agnes gestured to where Annabelle stood, about to walk up to the counter. “Could I have two? My friend and I both would really like to work here,” she said. 

James looked Annabelle up and down. She crossed her arms, dangling plastic spider earrings and dark makeup being analyzed. “Well, you certainly fit the aesthetic- sure.” He called over his shoulder to the man working behind him. “Danny! Can you grab a couple applications from the back when you’re done?”

Danny nodded, and James looked back at them. “Well, in the meantime, what can I get you?”

Five minutes later, the girls sequestered themselves away in a corner of the shop, sipping on peculiar coffee and filling out job applications. Well, except Jane. She’d already pulled out physics work. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to work here?” Agnes asked. She looked around at their little corner- bookshelves lined the lower half of the walls, somehow already looking dusty. (Apparently, at this cafe, you can take any book off the shelf and read it while you’re there- obviously, it has to stay in the shop). String lights dipped in front of the window they sat by, and multiple plants with skull pots were situated around them. “It’s really cool here. And James seems nice.”

Jane shrugged. “It is, but- well, I like the crystal store. It’s calming, and kind of cluttered, and all the crystals are beautiful. The shop owner seems really nice, too- his name’s Arthur. I’ve got an interview next week.”

“Alright,” Agnes sighed. She punched Annabelle’s shoulder. “Just me and this twat then.”

Annabelle gave her the middle finger. Agnes, remembering the week before, blew her a kiss. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Agnes said, “I’ve finished the form- are you done?”

Annabelle finished the last letter on hers with a flourish, and then nodded. “Yeah. Want me to take yours up to the counter?” she asked. Agnes passed her the application, and Annabelle took them both, disappearing behind a column that partially hid them from the rest of the shop.

Jane, in the middle of physics work, put her pen down. “Agnes, I’ve uh, I’ve had a question- what’s going on with you and Jude?”

Agnes had  _ not  _ been expecting that question. “What?”

Red in the face, Jane searched for words. “Sorry! Sorry. I just- well, this whole week- I just notice things like this, you know how I am- you two have been looking at each other? A lot? And like, starting conversations, and not really continuing them, and- it’s just been weird. I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t have asked- sorry.”

Agnes sighed. “No, no, it’s fine- you don’t have to apologize or anything. We just… talked, last week, talked for  _ real  _ but in a kind of odd way. And now I don’t know how to feel about her, or interact with her. It was…  _ easier  _ when I had that fixed version of her in my head. But now, I just want to know more.”

“That makes sense,” Jane said. “I- I understand. A shattered image, whether good or bad, can be… confusing.”

They thought in silence for a moment before Annabelle plopped down next to Agnes again. “You guys good? Shit looks kind of serious- what were you talking about?”

“Jude Perry,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “Oh, her. Not a fan.”

“Really?” Agnes asked. 

“I mean, not many people  _ are _ ?” Annabelle said, taking a sip of her drink, the  _ Sunken Sky.  _ If they did get these jobs, Agnes wasn’t excited to memorize all these drink names. “She seems rather- angry. A lot. And maybe just a  _ little  _ unhinged. Remember the time she yelled at Ms. Keay last year for like, no reason?”

Agnes nodded. “Yeah, I remember. I don’t know, just- anyway. What did James say about the applications?”

“Oh!” Annabelle exclaimed, excited again. “He said he can interview us sometime next week- Wednesday would be good, he said?”

Agnes thought through her schedule. Drama hadn’t started yet, and wouldn’t until November, so Wednesday should be fine. “Yeah! That’ll be fine. We should probably confirm before we leave, though,” she said. 

Jane picked up her pen, looking pointedly at them both. “We should actually do some homework, now that that’s figured out. Mr. Banks and Sims, as much as we love them, are relentless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you were wondering- no, absolutely nothing canon-style spooky will happen in this fic. the fears have manifested as specialty coffee drinks. please i just want all of them to be happy.  
> anyway, you start writing fanfics as a fun little side thing you do sometimes and then it turns into you writing 20,000 words in two weeks! and considering that i haven't even finished writing just the first month of the school year (which is ten months long, may i remind you) we can know there is a Lot More in store
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!! y'all are great and your comments always give me that fabled Happiness. stay funky! stay fresh! Yeehaw


	6. 9/19-20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i have a beta? no. did i bother to edit this chapter? no. it's midnight and my life is a mistake, i've been binging night vale and questioning all of reality, enjoy my steaming pile of shit. i said i would be making an update schedule and then said, hey Fuck That, i'm gonna post things as soon as i write it but i'll probably actually follow it at some point. anyway thanks

-Agnes Montague-

-9/19-

Unlike the week before, when Agnes entered Banks’s room for GSA, she was greeted by desks arranged in a small circle. She tentatively sat down in one such chair and pulled out her phone, hoping the others would get there soon. No one else was there yet. 

“Agnes!” Mr. Banks said, looking over his computer from behind the desk. He smiled. “Glad you could make it! Do you know if anyone new is coming today?”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t heard of anyone. Jane and Annabelle should be on their way, though,” she said. 

Banks came over to the circle of desks and hopped up on one. He took out a notebook, battered but with a sleek cover. He opened to a page in the middle. “I might be having a special guest here today,” he said, and then glanced at the clock over the door. “I hope that he- well, I hope everyone else gets here soon. I’d like to discuss some of those projects you all suggested last week.”

Soon after, Nikola walked into the room, moving with a strange juxtaposition of jerking and floating. Agnes looked away from her until she sat down across the circle. Staring at Nikola for too long felt like a throbbing headache. 

Slowly, everyone trickled into the room, Jane and Annabelle sitting on either side of Agnes as they often did. The circle quickly became waiting students, watching as Banks took short, apprehensive glances to the door.

Agnes noticed Michael and that goth kid Gerry sitting directly next to each other. A warmth spread through her- she always wanted Michael to have more friends, as his sense of self was often a bit much for other people. Maybe this funky goth could balance him out. 

After a few minutes of this, Banks pointedly looked away from the door and at his students. “Right. Well, ah- we should get into things, shouldn’t we?” he said.

Annabelle leaned closer to Agnes. “What’s up with Banks?” she asked, half-whispering and half-mouthing the question.

Agnes shrugged. “He’s expecting someone, I’m not sure who.”

“So,” Banks sighed, “last week, we discussed multiple projects we were interested in the GSA tackling this year- a campaign to bring LGBTQ+ history classes to our school, installing gender neutral bathrooms, and holding support seminars. Are these still concerns for us?”

As they began to respond, there was a noise from the door of the classroom, and Banks’s head snapped in the direction. He smiled, and Agnes looked to the door. 

Sims was closing it behind him, and then turned his head to them, having to move a stray strand of gray hair behind his ear as he did so. Agnes and her two friends exchanged curious glances. Essentially, she wanted to know, what the _hell_ did this mean.

“Jo- Mr. Sims!” Oliver said, obviously fighting down a large smile. He straightened his back and composed himself. “I- I’m glad you could make it.” This addition was calmer, more thought through. Agnes bit her bottom lip and tried to decipher all of this. 

As Sims nodded to him and walked over to them, Banks clasped his hands together. “I’m assuming you all know Mr. Sims, but if you don’t, he’s one of the history teachers here. GSA is open to everyone here, no matter age, gender, or sexuality,” he said. Sims gave him an awkward, pressed smile, and perched himself on the desk next to Banks’s. Truly gay culture. 

Agnes nodded at him as a greeting, and Sims returned the favor. She’d gotten to know him well after a year of ACC- the man tried to act composed and professional, but really was just a well of conspiracy theories, random facts, and a weird passion about medieval history and sweater vests. The students loved him for it.

“So, Mr. Sims, we were just discussing some of the possible projects for our GSA to work on this year. The two top ideas we have at the moment are installing gender neutral bathrooms and adding LGBTQ+ history classes to course options. Thoughts?” Banks asked. 

Sims took a moment to process this. “Um- I think they’re both worthwhile objectives. I do believe there is a significant need for both in public education.”

Banks looked into Sims’s eyes with an expression Agnes hadn’t seen on him before. Sims locked eyes with him, broke contact, and then returned it. This dance went on a few moments too long, before Banks eventually cleared his throat and looked back to the students. 

“Ah- um, well said.” He focused on the notebook on his lap. “I- well, I believe we should choose one to pursue first, because we’ll need to get board approval, fundraise, and implement the project, so there are many- um- working parts here,” he said. 

After much deliberation and chart creation, the group decided that they would be working toward gender neutral bathrooms at Magnus. Interestingly, Sims seemed adamant about the idea, more than Agnes expected he would be. Not that she thought he’d dislike it, but he spoke with a passion about why it would be an important and necessary step for their school. Maybe he _does_ care about things other than types of preservatives and weapons wielded by knights in the Middle Ages. 

The bell rang, signaling the end of advisory. Banks pushed himself off the top of the desk and landed with a _thud._ “Great meeting, everyone!” he said. “You’re welcome to stay here for a bit, although I _do_ suggest going to lunch.” He tried to discreetly gesture to the door, again locking eyes with Sims. “I’ll be back inside in a moment.”

Julia and Nikola left first, neither having much reason to stay. Then it was the teachers.

As soon as Sims and Banks shut the door behind them, the students erupted into discussion. “ _What-_ ” Annabelle pointed to the door- “was that?”

“Maybe they’re just good friends and Sims wanted to support our club?” Jane suggested. 

Agnes snorted. “ _That_? Hell no, there’s something there.”

For the first time since the meeting began, Gerry spoke. “You’re right. There is.”

Michael looked at him, surprised. “Oh?”

Gerry nodded emphatically, and the others leaned closer. Even after spending so much time with Sims because of classes and ACC, no teacher and student at the school were like Sims and Gerry. Whenever Sims spoke about him, he did so with a fierce protectiveness. So if anyone was qualified to speak of Sims’s _involvements,_ it was Gerry.

“Well, he hasn’t outright told me or anything. But there’s definitely something between Sims and Mr. Banks. Or at least, there was.”

“They would be good together,” Michael said. “However, Blackwood and Sims together would be better. They are undeniably compatible and have complimenting star signs.”

This time, it was Gerry who sent him an incredulous look. “How the hell do you know that?”

Michael only shrugged, leaving Agnes confused both about _that_ and the friendliness with which Gerry and Michael spoke. 

“How do you guys know each other?” Annabelle asked. She’d always had the ability to ask the questions Agnes was too scared to. She could also make people _answer_ them. 

“We met at art club,” Michael said, smiling. Agnes’s eyes were transfixed by the way his lips curled, their falling illusion, almost a spi- what? She looked away. It was hard to keep your gaze off of a human highlighter, though, especially when the only other person nearby him was dressed in all black. 

“No idea why Ms. Richardson had us sit together- he does abstract, and I’m best at realism,” Gerry said. “But I’m not complaining.” Agnes decided that they were her new ship, and could somehow tell that Annabelle and Jane felt the same. 

Jane brightened. “Oh, Gerry, will you be joining drama then?”

Gerry shook his head with a grimace. “Ah- no. I’m not exactly made for the stage.”

“You could be a part of stage or tech crew,” Michael said, running a hand nervously through his long blond hair. Agnes’s eyebrows raised- Michael wasn’t prone to nervousness, but he most certainly was avoiding Gerry’s eyes when he said that. 

When Gerry didn’t respond, an uncomfortable tension settled between the two sides of the circle. “I, uh- the cast list comes out soon, right?” Agnes said, trying desperately to dispel it. 

Jane shook her head. “That doesn’t get released until the start of October.”

“Right.” The conversation drew to a natural close, and Agnes grabbed her backpack. “Well, we should probably be going to lunch- we’ll see you guys later?”

Jane and Annabelle stood with her, ready to leave. After some goodbyes they encountered Banks and Sims coming through the doorway at the same time as them. Agnes closed the door behind them, and in the hallway, immediately began creating their theories. Finally, things were getting interesting around Magnus. 

  
  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - 

  
  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-9/20-

(As you would expect, ‘Knives,Anyone?’ is Melanie and ‘Section69’ is Daisy. That is all)

  
  


Martin sighed, uncomfortable in his hard plastic chair. The fluorescent lights of the conference bore into him from above. That lighting does nothing good, truly. He drummed his fingers on the table as Elias talked on about the new standardized testing that would be implemented at the end of that year, and how they needed to prepare the students.

Normally, Martin would care very much about this subject- he wanted nothing more than his student’s success (well, and maybe a nicer flat). But he’d already researched and been informed about the tests, they all were at the start of the year. Elias’s meeting about it wasn’t entirely essential.

And so Martin found himself bored, wishing more than anything to go back to his classroom and get a start on grading, or maybe a fresh new poem. He could write multitudes about the emotions that Elias’s little weasel face caused. The man had hair slicked back so heavily it looked wet, and a smile that was condescending and just _slimey._

The others at the table seemed to feel the same way. Any high school teacher available for the period was there- including Tim, Sasha, Melanie, Daisy, and Basira. He caught Tim’s eye and gave him a small smile. Tim returned the gesture, and then looked down at his lap for a moment. 

There was a buzz in his pocket. Martin took out his phone, discreetly opening it under the table. He saw a new text in his messages and opened it, finding himself invited to a group chat.  
  


**m.k.blackwood** was added to _teacher gang teacher gang teacher gang_

**TimStoner:** look. look under the table

**TheRealSasha:** Tim what r u on about

**TimStoner:** LOOK

**m.k.blackwood:** is this a teacher group chat?

**TheRealSasha:** Yes, and i’m so sorry about it

**TimStoner:** have you looked???

**basirahuss01:** We are currently in a meeting, please stop texting.

**Knives,Anyone?:** TIM

**Knives,Anyone?:** WHY IS ELIAS WEARING GUCCI SLIDES

**Knives,Anyone?:** HOLY FUCK

**TimStoner:** i KNOW right

**TheRealSasha:** Is that even allowed attire?

**Knives,Anyone?:** how much do you guys wanna bet that good ol’ captain lukas got those for him

**m.k.blackwood:** is that a thing???

**TheRealSasha:** Oh, hell yeah. Peter is def Elias’s sugar daddy

**m.k.blackwood:** wow, really?

**m.k.blackwood:** i thought maybe elias was divorced, earlier this month he had a ring and now he doesn’t

**Knives,Anyone?:** you’re right! I think they got divorced again, for like the eighth time. they’re both pieces of Shit

**TimStoner:** guys guys guys elias is catching on to us i think

**TheRealSasha:** Eh, fuck him, i have tenure

**m.k.blackwood:** i don’t!!!

**m.k.blackwood:** i’ve been here for less than a month!!!!

**Section69:** sucks to be you

**basirahuss01:** Darling, wouldn’t it be a great time to change your username?

**Section69:** no.

**TimStoner:** i smell a domestic dispute!

**Section69:** shut the hell up, stoker

**TheRealSasha:** The meeting is about to end, wrap it up folks

**TimStoner:** ;)

**TheRealSasha:** I hate you

**Knives,Anyone?:** did elias just make a comment about daisy and basira? what a homophobe

**m.k.blackwood:** aren’t he and peter together (kind of)?

**Knives,Anyone?:** uh yeah? he’s gay AND a homophobe

**m.k.blackwood:** sure

**basirahuss01:** This might be a good time to put your phones away.

And so, he did. Martin slipped his phone back in his pocket, desperately hoping that Elias couldn’t tell he’d been texting- or trying to stifle laughter. 

Elias leaned back in his chair with a smug smile. “I hope you have all _enjoyed_ yourselves at this meeting today,” he said. There was a green eye on his tie, and Martin wouldn’t have been surprised if it blinked back at him. 

Tim shrugged. “Was great, boss! Very informative, a little unrelated to the classes that I actually _teach,_ but hey, the more you know!”

Martin struggled to stay quiet, marvelling at Tim’s ability to nonchalantly piss off anyone he wanted to. The confidence in him was enviable. 

“Well.” Elias pursed his lips. “I thank you for your involvement, then.”

“Does this mean the meeting is over then?” Melanie asked. She pointed to the door, on the other side of the room. “Because, you know, I’m pretty sure that door locked behind me, and I don’t have the keys to open it, so…”

Elias rubbed the side of his head. “I don’t believe it is locked.”

Basira, who sat closest to the door, reached to the doorknob and clearly pretended to try and open it. She turned back around and stared straight at Elias. “No, it is. Definitely.”

For a moment, Martin was confused on what they were doing. Then he realized. 

Elias huffed and dug around in his pocket, the sound of metal clinking together clear in the room. He took out a key and held it out to Martin. “Mr. Blackwood, could you open the door?”

Tentatively, Martin took the key. He had two options here- one, he could ‘unlock’ the door and stay in Elias’s good graces, but ruin his friends’ fun. Or, the much more enjoyable option, he could play along. Martin stood and held the key in front of the keyhole on the door. 

He then proceeded to jab the key against the door in multiple ways, purposefully avoiding the hole, and slightly scratching a part of the door in the process. Turning back around, he lifted the key with a shrug. “I’m bad with keys; I’m afraid I’ll need some assistance,” he said, fighting to keep a straight face. 

Elias stared at him with a flat expression. There was a brief war of eye contact, and then Martin looked away, but saw a smiling Tim instead. Elias put his hands on the table and pushed himself to stand, less than intimidating with his small stature and (strange, almost fake looking) streaks of gray hair. He pulled his suit together in a laughable motion. 

He stepped away from the large table, took the key, and walked in front of the door. Martin’s eyes travelled down his body, until reaching… oh yes. The Gucci slides, out in broad daylight. How wonderful. 

Looking back at the teachers around the table, they all snickered, Melanie the closest to a full blown fit of laughter. His chest swelled with pride at the thought of helping make this beautiful thing happen. Elias opened the door, obviously not needing to use the key, and opened it, shoving one foot behind the door. Tim fist bumped him on the way out. 

Needless to say, Martin was in high spirits as he left the meeting, a distinct spring in his step as he walked down the halls. The students were still in their classes, and so he enjoyed the walk through the empty hallways, listening to the muffled sounds of people in classrooms. 

One door was open into the hallway, and as Martin passed by, he clearly heard the voices from inside. 

“That happened in 1834- remember that, remember that,” someone said, sounding frantic, but excited. There was the squeak of a marker on whiteboard. 

He edged closer to the open door and peered inside from next to a locker, just as he realized- that was Jon’s voice. 

Martin watched as Jon darted in front of a whiteboard, which was crammed with text and lines. He pointed to something. “And _that_ happened in 1834 as well. Do you- do you see the pattern? There’s a pattern! Look!”

He turned his gaze to the students, who were laughing, but undeniably enraptured. They scribbled in notebooks, glancing from the pages back to Jon. 

Jon had his hands on his knees, worn out from his darting back and forth and talking about long paragraphs of information. He grabbed a ruler from the shelf under the whiteboard and smacked it against the writing. “Use- use _that_ on your AP tests!”

Martin turned away from the classroom and pressed his back against the locker. He took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe Jon, with wild hair and wide eyes and so much _passion_ was… attractive. And the way the kids watched him, his frantic but engaging movements, their genuine interest in his words. Jon spoke to them with such a strange relationship- not quite friends, not quite students, almost like peers he was trying to convince. And it was- it was nice to see. 

Fuck, if Martin was honest, Jon passionately unraveling information was hot. 

He needed to go, he needed to leave, this was weird to do. Spying on another teacher in front of their class was weird. Right? Yeah, that’s weird. He fled down a flight of steps and back to his classroom, looking forward to an empty classroom to collect his thoughts. 

This is not what Martin was given. He stopped at the bottom of the stairwell, met with the sight of Agnes leaning against his door. 

He took a few steps closer. “Hey Agnes, do you need me?”

She hadn’t noticed him before, and stood up straight again, looking slightly startled. “Oh, Mr. Blackwood! Don’t worry, I haven’t been waiting long- could I take a look at your books?” she asked. 

Martin nodded and she moved aside so that he could unlock the door. “Of course, but- why?”

“Oh,” Agnes said, standing behind him as he turned on the lights. “I went to the library to try and find a book on a subject Mr. Sims wanted us in ACC to learn about, but Lietner didn’t have it, so I figured I would try here.”

Martin froze. “Sims?”

She walked over to one of his shelves, peering at the top row of books. “Yeah, Mr. Sims asked me- he’s my history and ACC teacher.”

_Sims. Jon Sims. Jonathan Sims._ That was his _name._ This couldn’t be possible. 

Agnes looked back at Martin, who stood at the front of his classroom. “Mr. Blackwood… are you okay?”

Many, many thoughts and emotions ping ponged around in Martin’s brain as he ran to his computer. He moved aside the “I put the Lit in Literature” mug from his keyboard and frantically typed in _jonathan sims the mechanisms._

He hit enter. 

The immediate search result just showed The Mechanisms’ website and Bandcamp, both of which he’d visited many times before. With a deep breath, he clicked on _Images._

A dark, serious face, streaked in heavy black eyeliner and rimmed by steampunk goggles. It was younger and different, but undeniably _Jon._ Martin fell into his chair, hands over his mouth, as he scrolled through image after image of the man on his computer screen. God, there was even fanart of him. The sour history teacher- well, ‘sweet like a sour patch kid.’ 

How hadn’t he realized? Somehow, the wonderful voice he loved, the one that filled him with such comfort and happiness whenever he listened to Mechs music, had been right in front of him and he hadn’t even known. 

Jon Sims- Jonny D’Ville- was teaching above him. And he liked weird facts and nonfiction books, he liked smoking cigarettes and definitely disliked poetry. 

Apparently, Martin had forgotten all about the student still in his room. She looked at him with concern. “Mr. Blackwood, are you alright? You don’t- you don’t need Nurse Gertrude or..?”

Martin shook his head, trying to regain his composure. “No, I- I’m sorry. About that. I just- remembered something very important, and time sensitive, that’s all.” He stood, tried to push the current situation from his mind, and went over to her. “Did you, uh, find what you were looking for?”

Agnes leaned down and scanned the last section of books. “I guess not- it’s okay. I’m sure I can find something online or at the town library. Thank you, though.”

“Of course, anytime, Agnes,” he said, and soon she was gone. He was left to his own thoughts.

Somehow, just to make sure- as if the pictures didn’t indisputably confirm it- Martin clicked on the Bandcamp and started playing a song. That was the voice. That was it. The same one he’d debated over poetry with in the library, and the same one that yelped as he nearly dropped a pile of books on the floor. Quickly, Martin stopped the song. 

Hm. Perhaps it was time to watch some Mechs performance videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for ~reading~, friends! this was originally going to be a part of one big mammoth chapter of like 6 sections, but i decided against that to write this slightly shorter chapter, and compile the other four into the next chapter. that is to say, there's only one September chapter left (thank GOD right), before we move on!! to October!!!  
> you know, for such a short chapter, i sure had a lot of notes. i am now on my second notebook for this fic and that's not even counting the google spreadsheets. life is a mess but my fic organization Isn't  
> that is all! you are all wonderful, and so are your comments! stay funky and stay fresh. Yeehaw!


	7. 9/22-30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday, i will properly edit chapters before i post them. that day is not today. i promised you an extra long chapter and i have provided

-Agnes Montague-

-9/22-

_ I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again. _

_ I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again. _

_ I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever- _

Agnes looked up from her book, tilting her head toward Annabelle in annoyance. “Could you please stop doing that? I can’t focus, I’ve read this sentence about four times.”

Peering closely at her arm, Annabelle sighed. A small spider scuttled down her bicep. “But it’s adorable! I’ve named it Francis and I love it. Stop being so fucking  _ mean  _ to me,” Annabelle said, finishing with a laugh. When she met Agnes’s eyes, she plucked the spider gently from her arm and placed it back on the carpeted floor of the library. “See ya, lil buddy!”

Jane stopped scrawling in her notebook. “I’m more distracted by Sims,” she said. “What do you think he’s doing?”

Agnes looked to the corner of the library where Sims sat, furiously typing and sipping from a thermos. They were situated at their usual table- mostly hidden behind tall shelves, in the farthest corner from the entrance, but still able to see along the back wall of the library. Agnes had always loved the way the sunlight came in from the windows near them; filtered through old, warped glass, casting a glow on small pieces of dust that floated through the air. 

“No clue,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe lesson plans or grading? Something teacher-y?” However, as she looked closer at his table, there seemed to be a sizable stack of books next to his laptop. Every so often, he flipped one open and checked it. 

Only this year had Sims started to show up in the library after school sometimes. That Friday, like they often did, the three girls studied and completed homework in their corner. The teacher’s presence surely was distracting, though. 

Annabelle drummed her fingertips on the table. She had an affinity for acrylic nails, black and accented with spider webbing white lines. The nails made a sharp noise on the wood. “So, Janey, you never told us how your interview went.”

“Oh, that!” Jane’s eyes brightened, filling Agnes with contentedness. “It- well, it actually went great! Mr. Nolan only has a couple other employees, so he said he’s happy to have a new hire. He thought that I was a good fit- I start in October,” she said. 

Annabelle pulled her into a hug, as well as she could from across the small table. “That’s great!” They separated, and Agnes closed  _ The Crucible,  _ aware they wouldn’t be getting much more work done at this point.

“We had our interviews for PanoptiCoffee on Wednesday. James liked both of us- he said that we didn’t technically have the jobs yet, there are still some things for him to sort out, but we basically have them. We’ll start the first Monday of October.”

“Look at us,” Annabelle said, smiling. “Working women!”

“Indeed we are!” Jane put her chin in her palm, scrunching up her nose a little. “But it won’t be easy. The back room at Good Energies isn’t- well, it isn’t the most organized, and I’ve got to clean it up. Considering how long Mr. Nolan has owned the building, some of those boxes are probably twenty years old. I understand it gets hectic, running a small business, but I mean, it’s really a bit of a… dumpster fire.”

_ Fire.  _ Agnes remembered Jude, the acrid tang of smoke she knew far too well. It’d been a while since they last talked. And, despite knowing it probably wasn’t a good idea, Agnes desperately wanted to. Someone else who knew what it was like to harm things, even things they loved, because they needed that flame. That heat of  _ life.  _

Agnes never meant for it to happen. According to her mother, she was an unruly child, prone to tantrums and violence. But she became calmer as she grew. More in control of those same festering emotions. They weren’t  _ gone,  _ just… malleable. She could mold her thoughts and feelings like warm wax.

And yet, the instinctual draw to fire never left her. Even just the flicker of a flame or dying embers would fill her with a joint fascination and horror. 

She didn’t mean for it to happen. She really didn’t. Just a dumb thirteen year old, lighting candles in her room on an English winter night. At some point, she fell asleep, and then when she woke…  _ heat.  _ Even as smoke filled her lungs and the flames came dangerously close to licking her skin, Agnes felt no fear, wading through the clearest parts of her home and to the door out of pure necessity. The fire would kill her if she didn’t leave, as much as she was transfixed by it.

Agnes made it out. Her mother, Eileen, made it out, far more traumatised than her daughter. Her father did not make it out. 

Insurance money and determination saw Agnes and her mother in a small flat, moving in just before she started freshman year of high school at Magnus Memorial. 

“Agnes? You there?”

Annabelle leaned her face in front of Agnes, who snapped back to the moment. “Hm? Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jane said. “Are you okay? You know that if you’re- well, remember that we’re here for you?”

Jane and Annabelle were the only two people Agnes knew that she’d told about her past. They didn’t mention it often; considering that the accident took place nearly three years before, it existed in this strange space between recent and old in her memories. That time felt like another person, a different life. A person that still used candles. 

“No, yeah- I’m fine,” Agnes said. “Just zoned out.”

A voice carried to them from a few shelves away, obviously trying to be quiet, but failing utterly. “You have to trust me; it’s  _ fantastic.” _

A laugh, fading off like a headache. “I am not one for realistic fiction, especially not that of the darker variety. Why read if it is only to be pulled into just another tale of reality?”

Agnes furrowed her brows and looked at the others. They shrugged, leaning forward to try and listen further. Agnes recognized that laugh anywhere- Gerry and Michael were together in the library, talking about something. The three of them fell quiet and listened.

“Just- give it a try? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it all.”

“If it is a book that speaks to you, I will read it. There is no better way to know a person.”

Agnes put a hand over her mouth, trying to fight down a smile. She couldn’t see them through the bookshelves, but hearing them was enough to know how adorable they were. Jane and Annabelle looked like they felt similarly. 

“You- you’d read a book that long, just to… know me?” Gerry asked, hesitant. 

There was the sound of a heavy book being slid from a shelf. “Of course I would. I want nothing more than to know you- you are fascinating. And I do... mean that in a  _ good  _ way.”

Annabelle looked as if she was about to burst, holding her palm tight against her lips. She lowered her hand and leaned closer to the others. “They’re so fucking cute!” she whispered.

Agnes and Jane nodded emphatically, not wanting to make too much sound. They didn’t want Gerry and Michael to know they were there, not yet. This was too wonderful to mess up. 

“I think you know me,” Gerry laughed, but his voice sounded unsure. A little shaky. “I don’t talk to a lot of people. You… you know me.”

“Ah, but not enough. I know that you are Gerard Keay, and you dress in black because you think it makes you look less approachable. You do not like optimism, but you do not like nihilism; neither do you like fantasy or horror. You are a wonderful artist and like to paint in shades of grey, as if illustrating an old film. And your favorite book is-” there was a pause- “ _ A Little Life.  _ But that is not enough for me to know- I doubt that there  _ will  _ be enough.”

A soft “ _ oh”  _ from Gerry. There was silence for a moment. “I- well, the book- feels like grey. But with… many shades. A photo taken in vivid color and then drained of it. I- I want to know you, too.”

There were soft footsteps on the carpet, and then the two of them appeared from behind the bookshelf, stopping dead in their tracks when they saw the three girls at their table. Jane weakly raised a hand to them in greeting. 

“Uh- hey guys,” Gerry said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What’s… up.”

\- - - - - 

-9/27-

Poking at her food, Agnes scrunched her nose in disgust. “Why do schools think it’s ever a good idea to serve fish sticks? I can’t think of a time that it’s gone particularly well.”

Annabelle shrugged. “It’s cheap?”

“That’s why I pack my lunch,” Jane said, rummaging around in her lunch bag. “It’s better for the environment, too- less trays wasted, and I can bring reusable silverware.”

“I’d do that, but I’m lazy and I wake up about twenty minutes before school starts,” Annabelle said. Without fear, she popped half a fish stick in her mouth. The look on her face showed immediate regret of the decision. 

There were many places in the school that Agnes held close to her heart, but the cafeteria was  _ not  _ one of these places. The smooth floors and windowless walls caused the voices of every student inside to echo, filling the large room with near deafening noise. Agnes wasn’t good at shutting it out, and so she always struggled to hear what her friends said at their small table. 

Sometimes others from drama would join them- Diego, Graham, Manuela, sometimes even Sarah. (Nobody liked Sarah all that much, but Jane always tried to make conversation). Today, though, no such people came to their table. A few days before, Nikola even sat with them. That had been a…  _ strange  _ lunch period. Agnes still had no idea what grade level or classes Nikola was in. And yet, she never remembered to ask. 

“Jesus- look, uh, 6 o’clock,” Annabelle said. 

Agnes looked between them- they were sitting at different sides of the table. “What  _ 6 o’clock,  _ Annabelle, yours or mine-”

Jane also looked confused. “Can you just tell us where you-”

“Hey, uh, Agnes?”

Annabelle sighed. “Four o’clock now,” she grumbled. 

Agnes turned, and she also sighed in annoyance at the sight of Jack. “Yes?”

She chose to ignore the fact that the freshman’s increase in extracurriculars also involving her was just coincidence. ACC, Book Club- well, at least he hadn’t infiltrated drama or GSA. But when Jack came up to her outside of these activities, it was far more difficult to brush it off. Agnes didn’t like conflict; not because she was bad at standing up for herself, or afraid of arguments, but she sometimes enjoyed it  _ too  _ much. Anger is a difficult emotion to mold. 

“You- you didn’t reply to the, uh, to the text I sent you the other day…”

_ That.  _ “How did you even get my number?” Agnes asked.

Jack shrugged slightly. “Leanne from book club gave it to me. So, did you- did you want to, um… go out sometime? I know that you- haven’t been able to, in the past, but we could get coffee some time? Maybe at the new place near here?”

Agnes sighed. She’d have to have a talk with Leanne sometime. Jack had his hands tightly together and shifted his weight, shoulders heightened slightly in anticipation. God, he was short. If this was the first time Jack had asked, she would’ve let him down easy, maybe even gone for coffee with him and expressed how utterly uninterested she was. But this definitely was not the first time. 

“Jack, you- my answer hasn’t changed,” she said. 

Before he could respond, Annabelle spoke, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How did you even get in here? This is junior and senior lunch.” Annabelle always seemed far more annoyed with Jack than even Agnes was. Jane just sat at her side of the table, awkwardly holding half of a sandwich. 

He gestured back to the entrance, where an exasperated Mr. Dekker stood. The poor old man had been given lunch monitor duty. Agnes did  _ not  _ envy him. “I- I told Mr. Dekker that I left my lunch bag in here.”

“You could’ve just waited until tomorrow at ACC,” Agnes said flatly. Jack paled a little and nodded. 

“Right- ah, well, are you sure? Maybe another time? I know you’re busy, but you must have an afternoon open, come on.”

Agnes exchanged an exasperated glance with the others. “No, Jack.”

“Then- then I’ll text you! We don’t have to go anywhere, I have your number now.” Jack kept battering on forward. She wasn’t even just giving him hints at this point, she expressly said  _ no.  _ Multiple times.

Agnes made a prominent mental note to definitely  _ block him  _ as soon as she could. She took a deep breath- don’t get angry. Agnes knew that if she were to surpass ‘annoyed,’ there would be a problem. And Mr. Dekker probably didn’t need that kind of disturbance today. 

“She doesn’t want to date you, jackass.”

A sour voice came from beside Agnes. She looked to the right, and there was Jude of all people, tray in her hands and a tired expression on her face. Agnes glanced between the two.

“Oh- uh- Jude Perry!” Jack stammered, taking a step back. She took a step forward. 

“That’s me.”

Jack ducked his head and glanced at the door. “Right- ah- well, I’ll be- yeah,” he said, and then scampered away, weaving between tables to reach the entrance. He seemed to be stopped by Dekker on the way out, but Agnes stopped watching, now preoccupied with more important matters. 

“I- thanks,” she said, brows furrowed at Jude.

Jude shrugged, still holding her food. “Seemed annoying- and I don’t care what he thinks of me, so really, why not.”

Annabelle mouthed something at Agnes, but she couldn’t discern exactly what it was. Jane still held onto her sandwich. She was looking between the other three with interest and a bit of confusion.

Jude opened her mouth, as if about to say something, and then closed it. She and Agnes locked eyes before she tried again. “Right. See you then.”

Jude took a few steps away before Agnes half stood from the table, nearly spilling her food. “Wait!”

“What are you  _ doing _ ,” Annabelle whispered, but Agnes paid no attention to her. Jude turned around.

Jude Perry wasn’t a common sight in the lunchroom; on the few days she would get lunch, she would leave almost immediately, going somewhere else in the school. Dekker always let her past without a problem. Because of this, Agnes knew she was probably going to walk out, and the chance would be gone- chance for what, Agnes wasn’t certain.

Jude turned around and cocked her head slightly. She didn’t say anything. 

“Do you- do you want to sit with us?” Agnes asked. 

Hesitant, Jude sat in an empty chair at the table, placing her food down while scanning them with her eyes. Jane, who still refrained from saying anything, finally took a bite out of her sandwich. Sure.

“I just- you made Jack go away, so I thought I’d offer- you don’t have to sit here if you don’t want,” Agnes rushed out, feeling far more panicked than she did just a moment before. One side of Jude’s mouth quirked up into a gentle half smile. 

“No, it’s alright. I’d like to.”

“Okay, cool,” Agnes said, a smile creeping onto her own face as well. 

Annabelle cleared her throat in the resulting silence. “So, ah, Jude- how’d you get to the point where you scare off freshmen just by looking at them?”

Agnes kicked her under the table, earning her a  _ look  _ from Annabelle. Jane’s eyes widened a little and she looked down at her food, never one for confrontation. 

Jude let out something between one laugh and a snort. “If I told you ‘research and practice,’ would you believe me?” Annabelle shook her head. “That’s probably the right decision,” Jude said. 

Shit, Agnes should have prepared a little better for this- she was at a loss for what to say. Even Annabelle’s passive-aggressiveness was better than silence. 

“You’re- doing drama this year?” Agnes asked. She cringed, but tried to overlook it. Probably not the worst conversation starter in the world. 

Jude nodded. “Um… yeah. New experience.”

“I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” Jane said, smiling softly. Agnes knew that she didn’t really feel that way, but it didn’t exactly matter. Jane always wanted people to feel comfortable- sometimes to a detriment. 

Jude raised her eyebrows. “I doubt that- but thank you.” She looked at Agnes, staring with those intense eyes, the ones that took Agnes back to that afternoon in freshman year. Jude- younger, innocent, but the same person. “I thought I might like the people there.”

Annabelle started to laugh and then stopped herself. “Sure about that? Didn’t think we drama nerds would be your  _ scene _ , exactly,” she said. 

“If you don’t want me here, you can fucking say it,” Jude said, eyes losing that intensity and reverting back to empty apathy. 

Agnes glared at Annabelle. “No- stay, really. She’s just been having a bad day is all.”

“I have  _ not  _ been-”

Agnes pointedly looked away, and Annabelle fell quiet. “I- I want you here. It would be nice to… get to know you,” she said. “For drama, of course,” she added quickly. 

Jane just gave Jude a timid thumbs-up, but it seemed enough to keep her there. “Yeah. That might be good,” Jude said, and they started to eat, Agnes desperately trying to mold her emotions once again. It was hard with Jude sitting across from her. The mind doesn’t want to yield when it’s moving quickly. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - 

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-9/29-

Martin rose one fist to the heavy wooden door, struggling to carry a plate in the other hand. He knocked and waited for an answer. 

Soon enough, the door swung open, and Basira smiled at him from inside. “Martin! You made it.” She opened the screen door and stepped aside so he could come into the warmth of the house. At the end of September, the nights were chilly now.

As soon as he stepped inside, a small dog skidded around the corner from a hallway and started to jump on him. Daisy poked her head out from the kitchen and saw it. “Gun! Down! Down, boy!” Within a moment, the dog stopped jumping and retreated.

Martin looked down at the tiny gray thing. “I-  _ Gun _ ?”

Basira sighed. “Daisy had the dog before we were dating, not my fault,” she said. 

“It’s a great name!” Daisy called back from the kitchen. 

Basira took the plate from his hands and peered in through the cling wrap. “You made cookies?”

Martin nodded, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. “Yeah! They’re snickerdoodles- I hope that’s okay? Felt like I should bring something,” he said, laughing nervously at the end. 

“That’s adorably sweet of you. Feel free to hang up your jacket and make yourself at home- the others are in the kitchen.” Basira and the plate of cookies disappeared into the kitchen, and Martin was left alone in their living room. 

As he shrugged off the denim jacket over his jumper, Martin looked around at the house. Daisy and Basira had a nice place- not very large, but not small either, fit for two people and a dog but with extra space. He knew that the furnishings must be from Basira’s efforts. He couldn’t imagine Daisy searching Ebay for hand-sewn throw pillows. 

He hung his jacket on the peg by the door. In all honesty, Martin had been ecstatic when he was invited to their game night- apparently, nearly every Friday, their ‘teacher gang’ got together at night to ‘play games’ (Melanie informed him that these games were usually just an excuse for booze and gossip. He didn’t mind). 

Martin made his way into the kitchen, where Tim, Sasha, and Melanie stood at the kitchen island, each with a beer in hand. Basira was unwrapping the plate of cookies and Daisy looked to be rummaging around in the fridge. 

“Ay! Mart-o!” Tim said, lifting his bottle in a sort of toast to his arrival. “Thank god we will finally have some adult supervision.”

Martin snorted. “If  _ I  _ am your adult supervision, you should all be very worried.”

Daisy handed him a beer from the fridge, and he took it. “Are Jon and- and Oliver coming?” he asked. 

Pulling out her phone and clicking it on, Sasha nodded. “Jon’s on his way.”

“Oliver doesn’t usually come,” Basira said, placing the plate of snickerdoodles on the kitchen island for them to share. Tim quickly grabbed one. “He’ll sometimes tag along to drinks and such, but not much else.”

“He doesn’t even want to be in the teacher gang group chat!” Tim added, mouth half full of snickerdoodle. “Whoa. Good cookies, dude.”

Martin cringed from Tim’s antics, but nevertheless appreciated the compliment. “Thanks?”

Fur brushed by Martin’s ankles. He looked down at Gun and instinctively crouched down to pet the dog. Gun looked to be a Jack Russel Terrier, and nudged at his hand as he pet him. Martin was a cat person at heart, but it was impossible to resist a cute dog. 

“Why’d you name him Gun if he’s so sweet?” Martin asked, smiling as the dog flopped on his side with his tongue out. 

Daisy shrugged. “Guns are small. So is he. And it’s kinda funny.”

Basira shook her head, chuckling to herself. “I’d make fun of you, but the last dog I had, I named Cat.”

“That- that- that’s even  _ worse _ !” Martin squeaked out, stammering.

He ended up fully sitting on the ground, legs crossed as he scratched Gun behind the ears. The dog flipped onto his back and let Martin rub his belly- smiling the entire time. The others, standing at the kitchen island still, started conversing again. Martin’s beer was left forgotten on the counter.

“So, what were you saying before, Tim?” Basira asked. She leaned on the counter, shoulder against Daisy’s side. 

“Hm?” Tim paused for a moment. “Oh, yeah! I was saying that my little brother, Danny, just graduated and came home this summer. He’s got a job at that cafe that just opened a street away from the school- PanoptiCoffee, I think?”

Sasha screwed up her face, thinking. “Weird name for a coffee place. A panopticon is a type of prison- and like, a really unethical one.”

Melanie shrugged. “I’ve been in the shop, and it’s kind of ‘spooky’ themed- so I guess that makes sense? It’s a cool place, though.”

“Of course  _ you  _ would like it,” Daisy laughed. “We’ve all seen your college YouTube videos. Let’s hope the kids never find them.”

“ _ And  _ there’s that ghosty podcast you like, with the ‘really hot host woman,’” Basira said. 

Martin tuned back into the conversation, resting his hand still on Gun’s back. The dog nudged his arm. “Um- I haven’t seen the videos? I- ah, could I?”

Melanie groaned, but Tim turned back to look at him. “I’ll send them to you later,” he mouthed, and Martin gave him a thumbs up from the floor. 

Just then, there was the sound of the front door being opened and soft footsteps on the carpet inside. Then Jon was standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He held in his hand a large box, and had changed out of his work attire- into a jumper and  _ jeans.  _ Something about Jon Sims wearing dark blue jeans made heat rise in Martin’s cheeks. 

“Oh! Jon! You’re here,” Basira said, and like she did when Martin arrived, Daisy crossed over to the fridge. 

“Apologies for my lateness. Ran into a bit of traffic on the way.”

Jon wasn’t really that late; the group officially met at 8:30, it was currently 8:36. The others had just arrived early. For once, Martin’s anxiety actually helped him out. 

And then, Jon looked down at him- an angle Martin hadn’t seen before on the man, because he usually stood several inches shorter than everyone else in the room. That was when Martin realized. He was sitting on the fucking floor. Like a goddamn  _ rat.  _ In the time since Martin had stopped petting Gun, he’d gotten up and walked away, so there wasn’t even a clear reason for him to be on the floor.

Martin motioned to the tile next to him on the ground. “I- I ah, I was. I was petting the dog.”

Jon pursed his lips and nodded, looking away and taking the beer Daisy handed him. Martin felt his insides deflate a little. 

It had been exactly nine days since Martin realized that his- not  _ his-  _ Jon Sims was also Jonny D’Ville of The Mechanisms. Despite how this epiphany shook him to his core, Martin had managed to refrain from confronting Jon about it. He didn’t want to seem like some weird fan or groupie of some sort. Better let it come up naturally, nonchalantly slip the information into conversation. 

Jon may have acted more decently towards him in the past few weeks, but the distaste present in his eyes wasn’t lost on Martin. He didn’t want to make things any worse. 

Shit- he should probably get off the floor. 

Martin stood, feeling rather undignified, brushing his hands of dog fur. He grabbed the forlorn beer on the counter just to have something to hold.

Standing on his tip-toes, Tim peered over the rest of the counter at the box in Jon’s hands. “What’d ya bring for us, Jonny boy?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Jon huffed. He placed the box on the kitchen island with a heavy  _ thud,  _ just as Martin squeezed into the group standing around it. “Shadows Over Camelot.”

Martin had to force himself to keep his mouth shut. The name of the board game was significantly similar to  _ High Noon Over Camelot,  _ his favorite- you guessed it- Mechs album. He let out a strained sigh, and Jon gave him a weird look.

“Martin- do you dislike this game? I’m sure we can find another.”

Because ‘play it cool!’ never seemed to really work for Martin. He shook his head. “No, no- it, uh, it looks great! No problem,” he said, voice raising about an octave. Now the others stared at him as well, but thankfully dropped it. 

“Well, shall we get started then?” Sasha picked up the game, and they migrated to the living room.

-

“I will  _ end  _ you!” Melanie shouted, and then threw a plastic figurine at a flinching Tim. 

“I’m already dead!”

Sasha had her head held in her hands. “This is a  _ cooperative  _ game, idiots.” 

An hour earlier, the group had unboxed the board game, sipping beer that was still full above the label. Jon and Basira took to nicely organizing the board, Tim and Daisy to subsequently fucking it up ( whether intentional or not). They’d started with a civil refreshment of the rule book and strategic playing. 

That, of course, didn’t last for long. Most of them were now on the floor around the coffee table, excluding Basira and Sasha, who remained calm and collected on the sofa. Cards and pieces were strewn about the carpet. Empty bottles rolled partway across the room, creating what was essentially a minefield if you were to walk around. 

Jon was sitting on the floor at the head of the coffee table. He looked between his hand of cards and the board, the only person truly focused on the game. Martin couldn’t even play well- throughout the entire game, he’d felt an urge to keep glancing over at Jon and the intense expression on his face. Apparently, Jon got  _ into  _ board games. Maybe even a little too invested. 

“Christ, what’s the ABV of this shit?” Melanie asked. She checked the label of the bottle. “Fuck, nine percent? Explains some shit.”

Apparently, Melanie cursed more when tipsy- or drunk, really, if she had a nine percent. She was right. That would explain the feeling in Martin’s muscles, the kind you wouldn’t usually expect after just one beer. 

Tim was staring, unfocused, at the floor. “My brain does  _ not  _ want to do this. I’ve clocked out. No way in hell are we getting to Excalibur with 11 siege machines on the board.”

Sasha nodded and placed her hand of cards next to the board. “I’m out,” she said, leaning back. “Too complex for right now- I’d be better suited to one of those 20 piece puzzles for children. Sounds relaxing.”

As the others agreed and discarded their hands, Jon snapped up from his focus and looked around at them. “We’re- we’re abandoning the game? What about the quest?”

Jon’s answer was a shrug from Daisy. He sighed. “Fuck all of you. Fine.” Martin almost laughed at the look of disappointment on his face, as if continuing the game was incredibly important to him. He couldn’t deny how adorable Jon’s scrunched face was as he put his cards back, and once again, the treacherous thoughts about Jonny D’Ville filled Martin’s mind. 

Yes, it was incredible that Jon was a part of the band that Martin loved so dearly, but that wasn’t the aspect of the situation that resonated the most deeply with him. Jonny D’Ville was so utterly  _ different  _ than Jon Sims- but the music, the stories, the lyrics, he’d written so much of it all. The Mechanisms was a part of Jon and that baffled Martin. He wanted, more than anything, to know more. 

“Cards Against Humanity?” Basira asked. There was a resounding yes, and she left to disappear down a hallway, presumably to find the game. 

Melanie scooted closer to Daisy on the floor. “Hey, hey- are you still planning to propose to Basira?”

Daisy seemed blindsided by the question, but nodded. “Ah- yes. I still don’t know  _ how,  _ or when exactly, but I will. It’s the next natural step in our life together, you know?”

Martin once again looked around the house, as far as he could see of it- Daisy was right. They both had stable careers, a home together, and a wonderful dog named Gun (that Basira had sadly shut in their bedroom while they played the game). 

As he thought about this, something deep within Martin ached. He wanted this with someone. The domesticity, the pets, the idea of proposals and engagements and weddings. The hopeless romantic in him longed for this life. 

“Martin?” Jon asked. 

Martin snapped back to the present. “Hm? Um- yes?”

“Could you hand me the cards by you?”

Martin picked them up and handed them to Jon across the coffee table, ignoring the way their fingers brushed together. Doing his best to ignore the way that Jon had soft hands and his nails were painted black, something he’d never noticed before. Martin thought of the turquoise recently painted onto his own. 

Cards Against Humanity was far better than the game before it- a lot less brainpower and a lot more sex jokes. Perhaps a refusal to participate in complex thought was not an ideal trait for a group of teachers, but nevertheless, they laughed and nearly cried a few times. 

Martin hadn’t expected Jon to be an expert at this game- it seemed  _ far  _ more a skillset of Tim’s- but he was wrong. By the end, Jon had accumulated the most black cards through an unbeatable combination of dry and dark humor. It stunned Martin, and left Jon with a satisfied smile on his face, one Martin couldn’t stop staring at. To a detriment, really. 

It was about 11 o’clock when the evening felt to be drawing to a natural close. Sasha yawned and leaned closer to Tim- at some point, they’d both ended up on the sofa. She picked up an empty bottle from the floor. “I think I should leave pretty soon here,” she said. Martin didn’t miss the way that her knee was pressed against Tim’s.

“Yeah, me too.” Tim stood up and groaned, stretching out his lower back. “I promise I’m not as old as this makes me look.”

Melanie soon followed the two of them, but because this was his first game night with the ‘teacher gang,’ he offered to stay behind and help clean up. Jon did the same, citing a need to look around for some missing game pieces. 

Daisy and Basira collected the wildly placed bottles and went back to the kitchen, arms full. Their quiet conversation barely reached Martin’s ears. It stayed like a hum in the background as he picked up forgotten food wrappers. 

The silence between Jon and Martin was… awkward. It was the first they’d been alone since talking in the library, a conversation that often made its way back into his mind. 

“I, ah- sorry about Shadows Over Camelot,” Martin said, grasping at anything he could to start a conversation. He really was horrendous at this ‘avoiding talking’ promise he’d made to himself. “I know you wanted to, uh, keep playing.”

Jon sighed as he reached under the sofa for something. “Yes, well, perhaps next time.”

“Shadows Over Camelot- sounds, um, sounds a little bit familiar, right?”

The  _ fuck?  _ What was he  _ saying _ ? Martin knew his inhibitions were lowered a bit, but this? This was a new level. He cringed, trying to shut himself up. 

Martin heard Jon’s breath seize up. “I- I don’t know what you mean.”

Fuck. Fuck. Oh god. 

“Like- um. Like High Noon Over Camelot?”

Silence. Martin had to fight down the urge to run away.

Jon’s head popped up from behind the sofa. “I- um, ah, you- you uh, you know? About that?”

Martin nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, I- well, I’ve been a Mechs fan. For a while, actually? Figured out who you were about… about a week ago,” he said. “I’m not, like, obsessed with you or anything though! Nothing weird, just, erm, coincidence, I guess?”

Jon stood from behind the couch and circled around it, coming to a few feet away from Martin. “Just- don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

He had brown eyes, deep and rimmed with dark circles. Martin’s breath caught in his throat as they locked eyes. 

“I won’t. I- I promise.”

Jon nodded, seeming satisfied with this. Martin took a tentative step closer. “Would you- would you mind if I asked you some questions about it sometime?” he asked. 

When Jon looked at him now, there was something different, and the edges of his mouth were in a shape very close to a smile. “Yeah, I- yes.”

And at that moment, in the dim light of Daisy and Basira’s living room, holding a bundle of trash in one hand, Martin realized something. 

He had a fucking crush on Jonathan Sims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that is the September wrapup, everyone! shoutout to the earl grey discord server for helping me out with the dog's name, you're all useless and i love you. also shoutout to everyone who's subscribed, given kudos, commented, or even has just read this fic so far! i promise it'll only get better from here.   
> as always, thank you for reading. stay funky and stay fresh. Yeehaw


	8. 10/02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited like 3/4 of this and that's better than usual. progress.  
> anyway welcome to October, we're finally in the second month of this shit and we are cruisin' babyyyy

-Martin Blackwood-

-10/02-

_I wish that someone, one day, will tell me when the wax starts dripping._

_And for once, the candle won’t burn alone._

Martin finished the last lines of his poem with a flourish of his pen, staring at the black ink that absorbed into the paper. Writing poetry always helped with emotions- especially those dreadful, colorful emotions of unrequited feelings, a short and fast fall into something that wasn’t quite love. Not yet. But knowing Martin, it wouldn’t take very long. 

He folded the paper and slipped it into a drawer on his desk. It joined about three other forlorn poems, each written in fits of pining. Martin romanticized life just a _bit_ too much; and when reality didn’t meet his rose-colored expectations, it often resulted in yearning poetry. Words he tried to weave of something other than tired brown eyes and long hair. Somehow, it always circled back. 

Advisory was still quiet in his room. In some ways, Martin enjoyed the alone time, but he also wished that the kids wanted to spend time there. It was silly, he knew that, but their approval was important to him. 

Martin stood from his chair, stretched, and then took a quick sip of tea from his thermos. He walked over to the bookshelf standing on one side of his classroom and scanned it for the right volume. His finger stopped on the binding of _Engine Empire,_ one of his current favorite contemporary poetry collections. 

Over the weekend, Jon texted Martin and asked for a favor. Of course, Martin became far more excited about this than was appropriate- and ended up disappointed because of it. Apparently Lietner didn’t let Jon take books out of the library after the ‘incident’ (what incident? Martin didn’t know), and so he was wondering if Martin had anything on prehistoric marine science. Weirdly enough, he did have that. 

Jon’s dedication to ACC and his kids in the club was… adorable. The passion he had when explaining their recent practices to the other teachers showed an investment that every teacher should have, in Martin’s opinion.

He’d already found the book, _Sea Dragons: Second Edition,_ and set it down by his computer earlier that morning. There’d been no time to bring it to Jon before. So now, Martin picked it up, relishing the feeling of a hardcover volume in his hands. He took the poetry book too, hoping it would be received well.

Jon hadn’t _asked_ for a poetry book, but after their conversation in the library a few weeks before, Martin felt it was his responsibility to introduce Jon to skilled contemporary poets. Plus, it would give them more to talk about- and Martin wouldn’t exactly complain about that. 

As Martin climbed the stairwell to Jon’s classroom, he hugged the books a little closer, suddenly aware of just how _ridiculous_ it probably was to bring the poetry volume. Jon didn’t like poetry. He’d said that, loud and clear. But it would give Martin an excuse to stay longer, an excuse to explain his thoughts. 

Since realizing his crush the Friday before, Martin went through an entire cycle of emotions throughout the short weekend. At first he denied it- he barely knew Jon, they’d been working together less than a _month,_ for christ’s sake, but that phase of the cycle didn’t last long. Then he tried to make it go away. Let’s be honest, Jon would never feel the same way.

Blasting Mitski late Sunday night, Martin finally accepted that he’d fallen for Jon totally and entirely. He wasn’t one to catch feelings easily, believe it or not, but when he did, it was dreadful. 

The hallway was clear. Students had found their rooms for advisory, and teachers were working or trying to keep their students quiet in what was essentially a free period. 

Martin raised his fist to Jon’s door, preparing to knock. He couldn’t see inside very well- there didn’t look to be any students, but he also couldn’t see the teacher’s desk. Perhaps Jon wasn’t even in the room. That might be preferable. 

“Mart-o! What’s poppin’?” 

Martin turned his head, to where Tim was rounding a corner, mug in one hand. The other hand was snapped into a finger gun. “Going to Jon’s?”

Looking at his knuckles, which were still poised to knock, Martin nodded. “Uh- yep. Just, uh, bringing these to him!” Martin showed the books tucked under his arm. 

Tim had stopped and was leaning on a locker next to Jon’s door. “Are you bringing him a poetry book? He hates poetry, you know.” Tim took a sip from his mug. 

“Yeah, I- I know, but I thought I’d bring him this volume- along with the other one, ah- to see how he’d like it?”

Shrugging, Tim pushed himself off the locker to an upright position. “Knock yourself out, I guess. I wish you luck.” As he began to walk away, he looked back over his shoulder. “Say hi to Gerry for me!”

“Um- will do!” Martin called back, but Tim was already halfway down the staircase. Damn, he’d forgotten that Gerry usually spent advisory with Jon. No use leaving now, though. 

He knocked, waited a moment, and then opened the door. As he flung it back to try and prop it open on his heel, one of the books slipped from under his arm, and then they both went crashing on the tile floor. “Ah- shit,” he said, and bent down, picking them up again. Flustered already, he stepped into the room.

Jon, lovely _Jon,_ who Martin hadn’t seen since Friday, was sitting behind a desk on the other side of the room. He ever so slightly moved side to side, making use of the rolling chairs the school provided. The end of a pen was stuck in his mouth from the side. Behind him, a goth kid sat on the wide windowsill with one leg propped up. The other hung off the side and swung.

“Oh- Martin.” Jon didn’t sound particularly excited to see him, but it wasn’t clear exasperation, and that felt like a step forward. 

“I- ah, I brought you the book you asked about?” Still on the other side of the classroom, Martin felt awkward, and so he began weaving through rows of desks to reach Jon.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Jon said. He straightened in his chair and took the pen out of his mouth. “Um- _the_ book I asked for _._ Did you find a second useful one?”

Martin set the volumes down on his desk, and his eyes caught Gerry’s. He gave the kid a small wave. Gerry only nodded in return, going right back to picking at chipped black nails. Even if Jon wasn’t Gerry’s _biological_ father, the resemblance between them was clear. 

“Well, _actually,_ uh-” Martin picked up the poetry book, showing it off a little- “I brought you a poetry one as well. I know you said that you don’t like it, but- I don’t know- I thought you may want to check this one out? I really don’t know why I brought it, actually, so I can just-”

“Martin, it’s fine.” Jon took the book from him, and Martin took a deep breath. “ _Engine Empire._ I’ll- I’ll read it. I’ll try. Ah- thank you.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, uh- of course!” Shit, he needed to get his voice lower. The way it constantly went up like a bad song’s key change was a big tell. 

Gerry sighed behind them. “Do I need to leave? Give you two the room?”

Turning around, Jon scoffed. “Gerry, that- that’s hardly appropriate! No, you do not- you do not need to _give us the room._ Do we need to have _another_ conversation about this?”

Martin felt the heat rise in his cheeks and stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking around the classroom. It was the first time he’d actually been inside, and the room was… _nice._ The lights were turned off, and sunlight came in through windows on two of the walls. Martin’s room only had one wall with windows- it seemed far brighter in here. 

‘Oh, uh, Gerry- Mr. Stoker says hello,” Martin said, doing his best to ease the tension. Even on Jon’s darker skin, there was a hint of red to be seen on his cheeks. 

“Right. Thanks, I guess,” Gerry said. His apathy, whether real or acted, bled into his speech. Martin shifted his weight back and forth, knowing he should probably leave but desperately not wanting to. 

Gerry hopped off of the windowsill and leaned over Jon’s desks, peering at the books. He pointed to _Sea Dragons._ “That for ACC?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, it is. You really should join- you _are_ intelligent.”

“Your analyzations for my class have been very insightful,” Martin added, and the others’ heads snapped back to him as if they’d forgotten he was there. “You’re a good writer.”

Gerry bit his bottom lip, obviously uncomfortable. “Thanks. I try.”

“If- well, if you ever want to try writing for scholarships and such later, you can always come to me!”

Jon was leafing through the two books, but looked up when Martin said this. “Do you- do you write?”

Martin shrugged. “Well, I _did_ get an English degree, so I’d say I’m pretty decent? I- ah, I actually write more poetry than narrative…”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “ _Right._ Probably should have expected that.”

Martin didn’t have the energy to feel all that offended. “It’s hard, you know! You need just as much skill to write a good poem as you do a good book or article.”

There was the sound of a _ping_ in the quiet classroom. Gerry took his phone from his back pocket, tapped at the screen, and then slid it back in. “Gertrude wants to see me,” he said. 

Jon nodded curtly. “Tell her I say hello, then. Make sure you do that chemistry work- Mr. Banks told me you didn’t hand in an assignment this morning. Did you have the pasta I made you yesterday?”

“Yeah, it was good, thank you,” Gerry said, picking up his backpack. It was black, adorned with only the gay and trans pride flags. “I’ll see you after school.”

As Gerry walked out of the classroom, footsteps loud in high platform boots, Martin somehow felt even more uncomfortable. He fidgeted with the hem of his jumper. “So, ah- do you live with Gerry? Or- or something like that?”

“No, he still lives with Gertrude, but she’s busy,” Jon explained. “Sometimes I- I’ll make him dinner or things like that, when she’s not around. He could probably do it himself, he’s capable, but- well, I don’t want him to have to.”

Martin debated with the idea in his head for a moment, but then sat down in a desk near to Jon's. “Can I ask- why do you- why are you so… I don’t know, protective with Gerry? Almost… parental, I guess.”

Jon sighed and closed the book he was holding. Martin noticed that it was the poetry volume, and a warmth spread through him. “Do you really want to know?”

Taking a deep breath, Martin nodded. “I… yes?”

“In all honesty, he reminds me of myself at his age. In so many ways. And I… I didn’t have anyone back then. He deserves better than what I had growing up- he deserves to have someone who cares about him. That’s _why_ \- because I understand him, and he deserves better.”

Martin nodded. “Oh.”

As if slipping back into his usual demeanor, Jon straightened and rid his expression of any emotion. “Well, thank you for the books, Martin. I will give them back to you when I’m finished.”

“Yeah, uh- of course, Jon,” he said, his mind still focused on the way Jon said his name. _Mah-tin._ He liked it. Words sounded sharp on Jon’s tongue, but something about the way he said ‘Martin’ was _softer._ “I’ll see you later, then?”

Jon smiled- it was small, but it was there. “Yes. See you, Martin.”

There it was again. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-10/02-

“Holy shit, this is fucking _delicious._ ” Annabelle said this through a mouthful of cake pop. Agnes cringed.

“You wanna… swallow that or something?”

Annabelle sighed, but did so. “The pastries here are real good.”

Poking his head out from the back room, James smiled at them. “We’re a small place, so they’re all made on-site! Maybe you guys will even make some of them. Until then, though, _please_ do not eat any.”

Annabelle grimaced. “Sorry about that, James. Just… quality control.”

Four o’clock on a Monday afternoon, Annabelle and Agnes had just finished their basic training for PanoptiCoffee. Thankfully, the shop wasn’t busy. At all. One woman sat in the corner, sipping on a black coffee and typing quickly on her laptop, but other than that, the tables were all empty. 

James disappeared inside the back room again, probably cleaning or baking more treats in these slow hours. Agnes and Annabelle were poised behind the counter, waiting for any customers. 

Agnes could tell she would quickly be fond of this place. The soft glow of the string lights and cluttered space brought a coziness to her that she hadn’t felt in a long while. She knew that the work might sometimes become stressful, but at least the atmosphere would never make it worse. 

However, she was _not_ fond of the ridiculous fucking drink names. She’d have to have a talk with James about those when she became more trusted. 

She felt a buzz in her back pocket. She reached for her phone, pulling it out through the tie of her apron. A notification of an email from [_amherst.john@gmail.com_](mailto:amherst.john@gmail.com) popped up on the screen. She clicked it open and started to read. 

**_Amherst, John_ ** _ < _ [ _amherst.john@gmail.com_ ](mailto:amherst.john@gmail.com) _ > _

_to Michael, Jane, Annabelle, Diego, Graham, me, Carlos, Julia, Jude, Natalie, Manuela, Sarah, cont._

_The Addams Family Cast List:_

  
  


Agnes immediately stopped reading. “Annabelle!” she called, and the other girl looked up from her phone. 

“Yeah?”

“The cast list was just sent out!”

Annabelle put her own phone away and hurried to Agnes, peering over her shoulder at the email. Agnes scrolled through it. “Diego is Gomez, okay, and… holy shit, Annabelle, you got Morticia!”

“Which one is that?” Annabelle asked, looking closer. 

“Did you not research the show at all?”

“No.”

“Dumbass. You’re the mom! Like, a huge main character! Congrats!” Agnes said, pulling Annabelle into a short hug. They separated and she went back to the email. “Look! Jane got Wednesday!”

Annabelle looked up from the screen and off into the distance. “Does that mean I’ll be acting as Jane’s… mom?”

Agnes barely held in her snort, nodding. “Yep. And Michael is Fester, apparently, which will be… interesting.”

“Where’s your name?” Annabelle asked. Agnes frowned, and scanned the list of names again.

“Huh. Not sure.” She scrolled down a little further, to lower on the list than she’d expected. There it was- Agnes Montague, listed next to the role of _Alice Beineke._ “Well, I guess we both ended up as moms.”

Annabelle shrugged. “Is it a good part?”

“It's- decent.”

Annabelle scrolled on Agnes’s phone, and then pointed at the bottom of the list. “Jude’s in ensemble. No surprise there.”

Agnes turned off her phone and put it away again, this time in the front pocket of her black apron. She leaned her forearms on the counter in front of them. “I- I don’t think she’s _bad,_ not at all,” Agnes said, strangely defensive. 

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t want her in a lead role. She’d probably quit or get suspended and fuck all the casting up.”

Crossing her arms, Agnes took a step back from Annabelle. “I think we should give her more of a chance! We barely know her, it’s not fair to- to _assume_ things.”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Sorry, is that an unfair assumption? Because considering the amount of times I’ve passed by the main office and seen Jude in the waiting room, I don’t think it is,” she said. The plastic spiders dangling from her ears moved back and forth as her head moved. 

The bell at the front of the shop rang, and the girls stepped apart, going silent at the sound of a customer coming in. As the door shut behind them, Agnes saw who it was- Jude. Because of course it would be fucking _Jude_ right then. 

Despite their previous conversation, Agnes couldn’t help but feel a pleasant flip in her stomach as Jude walked up to the counter. With a quick glance to Annabelle, she stepped forward to the register. 

“Jude- um, hi.”

Jude smoothed a short strand of black hair behind her ear, ruffled by the wind outside. “You work here?”

Agnes nodded. “Today’s my first day, actually,” she said, and then quirked her head to Annabelle. “Her’s as well. You’ll uh, be my first customer.”

“Oh. Cool.” Jude looked behind Agnes, at what she assumed to be the menu. “Jesus, why are the drinks here named like this?”

Agnes laughed. “I have the same question, really. I might try and change that in a bit- we’ll see. Are you ready to order?”

“Nah, not yet,” Jude said, shaking her head. There was silence, but it settled lightly between them. Annabelle walked up next to Agnes. 

“The cookies here are kinda bomb, though. Just so you know,” she said, and Agnes wanted to remind her to smile like James said to. He’d probably have to come out to help them with the drink if it was an at all complicated one. 

“No thanks, I’m alright on that. I guess I’ll try the- ‘Asag.’”

“Size?” Agnes asked.

“Medium.”

Agnes grabbed the right cup, figuring there was no need to mark the side with the order, considering that Jude was the only one with a drink in progress. She glanced back up at the menu- an Asag was a mocha that included a spiced cinnamon, clove, and cayenne mix. Then a chocolate drizzle was added. Not the worst drink on the menu, but certainly not the easiest. She rang Jude up and went about the proper exchange. 

Annabelle opened the door to the back room. “James?” she called, leaning her head in. Standing at a table, Agnes could just see James removing the packaging from something.

“Yeah, Annabelle?”

“We’re makin’ a drink!”

He sighed, set down whatever he was holding, and came to lean against the counter. Jude had already migrated to the other side, where customers waited for their drink to be made. Her arms were crossed and some of her weight was on the wall next to her. Agnes wondered how she could wear a tank top in the starting chill of early October. 

“What’s the order, girls?” James asked. 

“The Asag,” Agnes said. “I think I’m saying that right.”

James’s eyes brightened. “That’s a fun one! I’m a personal fan of the cayenne, really. Gives it a nice kick.”

He showed them through the motions of making the drink, which involved a bit more mixing and precision than Agnes was comfortable with. Well, she’d have to get used to it. Only a few minutes passed before she squeezed a lid on the cup across from where Jude waited. James had already left, going to the back room again as soon as he was no longer needed. 

“Asag for Jude Perry,” Agnes joked, handing the drink directly to her. Jude nodded. 

“Ah- thanks.”

Agnes once again took her position of leaning her forearms on the counter. “So, uh, you haven’t been at lunch lately?”

Jude took a full sip of the drink before Agnes could warn her- it was far too hot for consumption so soon. But Jude showed no signs of pain, swallowing without issue. Agnes shook it off. 

“You’re right. I haven’t.”

“Could- could I ask why?” Agnes asked, running a strangely nervous hand through her red hair. She loved the heat that ran through her when Jude was around. 

She shrugged and took another sip. “It’s good, by the way- and I just haven’t felt like it. There an issue with that?”

“No, no- of course not,” Agnes said, immediately backtracking. “I just- it was nice, having you at our table? You’re welcome back anytime, you know.” She could almost see Annabelle rolling her eyes, despite her not being in view at all. At this point in their friendship, Agnes could basically hear Annabelle’s exasperated facial expressions. She didn’t care. 

Jude nodded. “Oh. Right. Uh- thanks, then. That’s… good to know. I’ll see you at school.”

“Right, yeah- see you, then,” Agnes said, drumming her fingers on the counter. 

Jude took a few steps away, but then turned back. “Hey, Agnes?”

“Yeah?”

“What days do you work?”

She thought back through her new schedule. “Uh- Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, for now,” she said. 

Jude nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Okay.”

And like that, the bell rang again, leaving Agnes still coursing with heat and electricity. She stared as Jude walked down the street, quickly becoming a distant shadow holding a coffee cup. 

Annabelle sighed loudly and tore Agnes’s gaze away from Jude. “You told her that she can sit with us anytime?”

“Well, I don’t think I was wrong,” Agnes said, hands on her hips. Annabelle rolled her eyes, and this time, it didn’t even have to be ‘sensed.’

“Let’s just make some fucking cookies, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all wouldn't be able to guess from how i write this, but i have a genuine dislike for most poetry and so writing a character who loves and writes and defends poetry is Difficult. that's just writing i guess.  
> thanks to lyf (LyingInSpirals here on ao3) for writing the poem i used a snippet of in this chapter! i promise that it will be used in full at a later date. everyone should check out their awesome fic, 'Earl Grey and Add On Purchases' because it is wonderful and i love it. join the earl grey discord and fuck around w us.  
> that's all, so thanks for reading! stay funky and stay fresh, my good people. Yeehaw


	9. 10/05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i Tried to get better at editing my chapters but it's like one in the morning and i'm tired but i really want to update this  
> anyway i should probably just find a willing beta reader at this point,,, we will see. enjoy the chapter, i hope it be readable!

-Martin Blackwood-

-10/05-

Ivy Meadows wasn’t the best care home in all of England. It had a plain enough exterior, painted beige and adorned with just enough plants. The food tasted fine, and every once in a while, some poor ballet company or singing group would come in to perform. But it was what Martin could afford- teaching doesn’t exactly gain one a fortune. 

Martin rested one hand on the front desk, the other clutching at a soft blanket. The woman sitting behind it passed him a well-worn clipboard that had several sign in pages, filled with scrawled signatures. He added his for what felt like the hundredth time and passed it back. 

“She should be in her room at the moment,” the woman said, smiling. 

“Thanks, Alenka.” Martin knew most of the staff by name at this point, except for the volunteers, of course. He even knew most of the other seniors there- whether through meeting him, or through incessant gossip. 

On the way up the darkly carpeted stairs, Martin waved to another resident at the top. He climbed the last few steps and stopped next to him. 

“Bertrand! How are you?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at the man in his wheelchair. 

The old man smiled, it fitting perfectly into the etched lines on his face, complimenting the sparkle in his eyes that still remained. Martin wanted to be like Bertrand when he aged; still smiling and chipper. The retirement home couldn’t damper his hope, and Martin admired that. 

“Martin!” Bertrand said, his voice edged with a rasp. “I’m doing just fine. Here to see Barbara?”

Martin sighed. “As always, really.”

Bertrand reached and patted him on the arm. “Tell her I say hello, then, would you? Maybe then I won’t have to,” he laughed. 

“I’ll do that,” Martin said. “I’ll see you later, Bertrand.”

“Well, I’ll be here.”

After their brief conversation, Martin continued on the way to the room, blanket still tucked under his arm. He really disliked the scent of nursing homes. They always had the smell of mung beans, laced with cleaning chemicals and old upholstery. God, he never wanted to end up in one of these places.

A retirement in the Scottish highlands would be nice. Painting, writing poetry, waking up and drinking tea as he stares out at the snow capped mountains. Aging gracefully with the love of his life- whoever that would be. Martin pushed Jon out of his mind, knowing this was just a silly crush, and that he and Jon weren’t meant to be. He’d find the right person, someday. For now, though, he had to deal with these dreadful feelings. 

Martin’s dreams were interrupted by the sight of a familiar door in the hallway. He shifted his weight side to side, feeling the old matted carpet under his shoes. He knocked. 

A gruff voice came from the inside. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Martin,” he said, letting his hand rest on the doorknob. There was a grunt behind the door.

“Come in.”

Martin opened the door, its hinges squeaking dreadfully. His mother sat in a plush armchair in the corner. “You come to see me on Thursdays now? Can you not spend weekend time on me anymore?” she asked, clearly not looking for a real answer. 

Martin sat on the bed in the middle of the room. “I- I can come on Saturday or Sunday, if you like, I just- had time today. Thought I should visit.”

She pursed her lips together and pointed at the blanket Martin held. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” Martin said, unfolding the grey blanket. “Right, ah- since it’s October, and starting to be a bit chillier, I brought this! Knit it myself, actually- here.” He held it out to her. 

She took it and dropped it onto the floor next to her. “They have blankets here, you know.”

Martin’s chest deflated a little. He wasn’t sure why- certainly, he should be used to this by now. But he just nodded. “Yeah, I know, I just… thought you would like having something I made.”

She didn’t say anything, and just began to stare out the window. Martin glanced out as well, noticing a duck diving down in a small pond. The view was peaceful, complimenting the room itself. There was plush furniture and a large bed with soft sheets. Martin always liked to look at the painting of a forest on the wall when he felt frustrated with his mother- it calmed him down. 

His mother, however, did not match her room. Thin grey hair was pulled back into a tight, unforgiving bun, and unlike Bertrand, her lines were ingrained by stern frowns. Martin drummed his fingers on his thigh. 

“So, didn’t a, uh, a dance company perform here just last week? How was that?”

His mother, Barbara, shrugged. “It was fine, fine. None of the kids seemed like they wanted to do it. Can’t blame them,” she said. 

Martin put his palm to the side of his head, wanting to be anywhere but there. “Well, at least they came.”

“Oh, like you didn’t last week?” she asked, her face settling back in perfectly to the frown Martin knew so well. 

“I was busy- I’m sorry.”

“Busy with  _ what,  _ exactly?”

“My teaching job!” Martin exclaimed. Look at the forest, Martin. Look at the forest. Look at the duck. 

She grunted again. “Because being an assistant is so difficult.”

“That- that was just when I was still in university. It’s a real teaching job, now, I- I told you that.”

“I’m an old woman, Martin, you can’t expect me to remember everything.”

The room fell silent again as they reached another impasse in the conversation. Martin traced circles on the faded bedspread. After a few more moments, she spoke again. “Do you have a girlfriend yet?” she asked. 

Martin sighed. “I- no. No, I do not have a- a girlfriend.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I’ll be long dead before you ever give me grandchildren. Well, what girl  _ would  _ date you? I told you not to get a degree in English.”

_ Forest, Martin.  _ “But it got me a job!” Martin said, grasping for anything to say, other than bursting out the fact that he was gay and never going to get a girlfriend. No need to make her hate him any more. “I’m a teacher.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said,” she sighed. “Probably better you teach children than have them.”

Martin stood from the bed quickly, suppressing the urge to snatch the blanket from the ground as well. “Is there anything you need before I leave? Have you been taking your medication?”

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, and then shook her head. “Can’t waste any more time on your poor old mother?”

“I- I, no,” Martin stammered.

“Yes, I’ve been taking my medication, the damn workers make me. I’d have to take them even if I didn’t want to.”

“It was your choice to come here,” Martin said, lacking the energy to fight anymore. The end of the sentence trailed off. “Anything you want me to bring next time?”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, taking a book from the end table next to it. “No, I’ll be fine, don’t worry about old me. You just go ahead and not think about me for another two weeks.”

Martin was going to say something in response but stopped himself. He stood at the door, hand on the knob. “Bye, mom.”

She didn’t say anything. 

He opened the door, barely refrained from slamming it shut, and then was back out into the silent hallway. That blanket had taken a lot of effort. Multiple hours with the needles, folded on his living room sofa and letting nature documentaries play without any of his attention. She’d probably never use it- but he knew that all along, didn’t he?

Martin checked his phone. He’d only visited his mother for just over five minutes, apparently- it felt like it had been an hour. The trip back down to the front desk was a mentally arduous one, and he finally stopped at the counter. 

There was an awkward moment before Alenka noticed him standing there. She looked up, a bit startled. “Oh, Martin- that was quick.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. It was.”

Picking up the clipboard, she nodded. “Barbara can be a difficult one. But we’ll take good care of her. Here you go,” she said, and handed him the clipboard. 

“Thanks.” He signed out in the last column- no other visitors had come while he was there. After multiple years of his mother’s residency there, he would still be hard pressed to come up with even two other regular visitors. Relatively, his mother was rather lucky. 

Alenka took the clipboard back. “Alright, Martin. See you again soon.”

“See you.”

He opened one of the front doors and stepped out into the slight chill. A gust of wind blew on him, and he wrapped his denim jacket tighter around himself, more for the protection than warmth. As he crossed the parking lot to his car, he fought to pat down his curly hair, which was blown in the wrong direction by the wind. 

Assaulted physically by wind and mentally by the experience with his mother, Martin flopped into his car and closed the door. 

Hands on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. Martin let his head fall on top of the wheel, doing his best to take those deep breaths. 

He didn’t know he was crying until a drop of water fell on his leg. Straightening up, Martin tried to quickly wipe his eyes. It didn’t work, and his vision became blurry- fuck, he shouldn’t start driving yet. And so he let himself sit in the parking lot, stubborn tears falling in his silent car. 

There wasn’t really any sadness, not anymore. Just numb acceptance. And yet, he still tried, desperately and fruitlessly. Every time Martin left, he swore he wouldn’t go back. 

He always did. 

-

Half an hour later, Martin stumbled into his small bedroom and fell onto his bed. Shit, he had things to do. It was only 5:30 in the afternoon. There was grading, a quiz to write out, and not to mention a couple scribbled down poem ideas he wanted to write before he forgot about them.

He couldn’t do any of that. For twenty minutes, Martin laid with his face down on his bed. Of fucking  _ course  _ he didn’t go see his mother last week. He felt terrible last week, and visiting his mother sent him into a multiple day long spiral he hadn’t wanted to deal with. Knitting was therapeutic, and now she’d infected even that. 

A vibration in his back pocket. Martin built up the motivation to move for multiple minutes, and at 5:58, he managed to flip onto his back and pull out his phone. As soon as he saw the sender of the message, Martin sat straight up and put a hand out on his bed to steady himself. 

**_Jon Sims:_ ** _ Engine Empire has fascinating themes, however, that is the product of its narrative commentary. _

Martin stared at the contact that had been entered into his phone- Jon Sims felt a bit too boring. Before trying to perfectly calculate a response, he considered what the name should be. 

**_Jon <3: _ ** _ The poetry only conveys the larger themes.  _

Maybe the heart was too much? If Jon were to somehow ever see a message sent by him on Martin’s phone, that couldn’t end in anything except disaster. 

**_Jonny D’Ville:_ ** _ So, it gets a pass. It’s very good.  _

The thought of having the real Jonny D’Ville in his phone contacts sent Martin into a fit of smiling and blushing that, although enjoyable when alone, would be more than embarrassing in public. He sighed and edited the contact one last time before responding. 

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ i knew you’d like it! _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Don’t take this as permission for any more poetic gifts.  _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ you sure about that? i have some other good ones _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ poetry isn’t all that different from lyrics, you know. one is just set to music _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Are you using my own interests against me now? _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ yes i am! and i'm not wrong either _

**_Jon:_ ** _ You do make a valid point.  _

**_Jon:_ ** _ However, they are undeniably different mediums. This Venn Diagram is not a circle.  _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ if you say so :D _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ i haven’t told anyone about your immortal space pirate side gig, if you’re worried _

**_Jon:_ ** _ And I do thank you for that. It is difficult to be seen professionally when your colleagues have full knowledge of your… hobbies. _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ well, you now know i write poetry, so are we even? _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Sure.  _

**_Jon:_ ** _ No promises about Gerry. However, I will not say a word. Even.  _

Martin’s smile was overwhelming by the time that his phone buzzed again, and a notification popped up on the top of his screen. He clicked it and was taken to another message.

_ teacher gang teacher gang teacher gang _

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _ hey fuckers, we on for game night tomorrow? _

**_Section69:_ ** _ basira’s phone is dead but we’re both chill to have y’all like usual _

**_TimStoner:_ ** _ can everyone make it? _

**_Jon:_ ** _ I was wondering, actually- would it be alright for me to bring someone? Not this week, but next. _

For the second time that day, all the air seemed to rush out of Martin’s lungs and he was left deflated. Jon was taken- of course he was. Even with an initially sour disposition, one that still showed up often, Jon was undeniably attractive and intelligent. It had been ridiculous for Martin to think he ever had a chance. 

**_TimStoner:_ ** _ oooh, does our jonathan have a partner? plot twist _

**_Jon:_ ** _ No, I do not. I have a friend who will be helping to choreograph for this year’s musical. _

**_Jon:_ ** _ She would like to meet you all before the drama program begins.  _

**_TheRealSasha:_ ** _ Oh cool! Who is she _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Her name is Georgie Barker, she’s a podcaster but was in the Oxford dance program. _

Martin still couldn’t help but feel a sinking in his stomach. There was every chance that Jon and this Georgie were only friends, but even the possibility of anything else made Martin strangely nauseous, as if he had any claim to Jon. He knew what these were one sided and unrequited feelings; he had no right to be upset at choices Jon made in his love life. 

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _...georgie barker _

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _ THE georgie barker???! _

**_Jon:_ ** _ I am assuming, yes.  _

**_Knives,Anyone:_ ** _ FROM WHAT THE GHOST _

**_m.k.blackwood:_ ** _ is that the podcast you were talking about last week? _

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _ YEAH IT FUCKIN IS _

**_TimStoner:_ ** _ oh jonny boy, look what you’ve done _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Please don’t call me that.  _

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _ how were you just NOT going to TELL me that you are friends with GEORGIE BARKER _

**_Jon:_ ** _ Well, I did, didn’t I? _

**_Section69:_ ** _ jon this is why no one loves u _

**_Jon:_ ** _ What exactly did I do? _

**_TheRealSasha:_ ** _ Well. Game night should be interesting _

**_Knives,Anyone?:_ ** _ i can’t believe i am going to meet georgie barker holy fuck _

Martin clicked off his phone and turned off notification alerts. Their messages brought him out of his earlier state, and for that he was grateful- but now he felt mostly normal, and that meant work. He took out his laptop and opened his quiz plans. 

After a moment of debate over it, Martin opened his Mechanisms Bandcamp bookmark. Since finding out about Jon’s  _ involvement  _ in the group, he’d felt uncomfortable listening to their music. But today was different. All he wanted to hear was Jon’s voice, even if it was chanting dread invocations. 

When Martin walked into his classroom the next morning, a book was on his desk. He hadn’t put it there. The title read  _ The Invention of Nature _ \- nonfiction. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-10/05-

“Ah- only one last question.” Sims flipped a page in his notebook and pushed his glasses further on his nose. 

Agnes felt a nudge on her arm, and she looked to the side, where Annabelle was slightly leaning toward her. “Jane said she’d wait for us, right?” she whispered. 

Nodding, Agnes straightened up in her chair. 

“This type of event kills Lise Bolkanskaya in  _ War and Peace _ , as well as Agnes Fleming in  _ Oliver Twist _ . Other victims of this kind of event include the title character of  _ Lolita _ , Catherine Barkley in  _ A Farewell to Arms _ , and Catherine Earnshaw in  _ Wuthering Heights _ . For 10 points—name this cause  of death that befalls Emily Webb in  _ Our Town _ .”

Almost immediately, Agnes’s hand whacked the bell in front of her. All of their bells were broken, but Sims said that it was still ‘a helpful reflection of the real tournaments.’ 

“Death in childbirth,” Agnes said, chin raised. She loved the feeling of  _ knowing  _ her answer was correct. Annabelle gave her a pat on her thigh beneath the table, signalling congratulation. 

Sims nodded. “Correct- that puts Agnes and Annabelle at fifty points over Michael and Jack’s score. Michael, Jack, make sure to study all the topics I assign to you each specifically. The district bowl is next month.”

Agnes wasn’t surprised by the results of their practice. Sims didn’t always pair her and Annabelle together, but when he did, they won. It really wasn’t Michael’s fault- Jack didn’t have much of an affinity for Academic Competition. If he wanted Agnes so badly, she figured, he should try and win them a damn quiz bowl. (Even then, she wouldn’t). 

As the four of them on the team made their way off the stage, Sims continued to speak. “I’ll be emailing you each with topics I think compliment your areas of expertise, if that applies. Jack, please stay for a moment,” he said, leaning against the stage. Jack dropped his backpack, glanced at Agnes, and went over to him. 

Annabelle heaved her backpack onto her shoulder. “Do you think Sims knows about Jack?” she asked. 

“Not sure,” Agnes said, shrugging. “Although if he did, I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t let Jack stay on our team.”

“Even though there are only four of us?”

Agnes chuckled. “I mean, does he really add that much?”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows as they walked to the door of the auditorium. “You’re properly getting into the spirit of bullying! I like it.”

“Is it really bullying if he’s been harassing me for over a year?” Agnes asked. “That must give me some sort of pass.”

They crossed through the entrance area of the school and pushed open the door to the parking lot. As they expected, Jane stood on the sidewalk that bordered the building, leaning against a wall. However, Agnes did  _ not  _ expect to see Gerry standing near her. 

Agnes quickly checked her phone- 4:30. “I hope you weren’t waiting for too long?”

Jane shook her head, her long black braid shifting on her shoulder. “I did homework in the library for most of it- got a lot done, actually!” She gestured to Gerry. “He was already out here.”

Gerry raised his hand in a brief greeting. “I’m- uh, just waiting for Michael,” he said. 

As if on cue, Michael pushed open the door, his presence announced by the clinking of metal bracelets on his wrists. They were layered over what looked like about a dozen Silly Bandz. He stopped at where the rest of them were grouped. “Ah, Gerry- you waited for me?”

Gerry nodded, and Agnes was reminded of how the two of them looked together- their contrast became nearly disorienting. Agnes was sure that, if he took those damn boots off, Gerry would be about seven inches shorter than his lanky counterpart. “Yeah- I said I would.” He glanced between the three girls. “I- I, uh, wanted to walk home. With you. Like Usual.”

Agnes and Jane exchanged a knowing glance. Before anyone else could respond, though, the heavy door of another entrance across the parking lot shut. Agnes’s head instinctively snapped over to look. Stepping off the sidewalk, Jude noticed them and froze, locking eyes with Agnes as they often seemed to lately. 

Apparently, Michael had said something that Agnes missed, and now he and Gerry were walking side by side around a corner of the building. 

“Agnes- are you alright?” Jane asked. The question helped her to peel her eyes away, and Agnes looked at her friends standing before her. 

“Um- yeah. I’m fine. I just-” she glanced over her shoulder at Jude- “I just think I might go talk to her? If that’s alright. You guys can leave, I won’t be long- I’ll catch up.”

Annabelle shifted her bag. “You sure, Agnes?”

“Yeah.”

Jane and Annabelle shared a look, one that Agnes didn’t like. They turned to walk in the same direction as Michael and Gerry. 

As Agnes began to cross the parking lot, Jude did too, and they met in the middle, standing across from each other in the silent lot. There were only a few empty cars and rustling trees. 

Jude has flecks of gold in her eyes. They were illuminated by the bright sunlight that cast a glow over everything, but did nothing to suppress the wind.

“Hi,” Agnes said. 

“Hey.”

Another moment of silence. Agnes pursed her lips. “Um- why are you here?” She cringed at the delivery- the words almost sounded accusatory. But if Jude took offense, she didn’t show it. 

“Nothing,” she said. “Meeting with Mr. Blackwood.”

“Oh, cool! He’s- he’s a really great teacher.”

“Yeah.”

They fell quiet again. Now, in the moment, Agnes wasn’t so certain about why she so urgently felt the need to talk with Jude. Still, she didn’t even think of leaving. “So… I had a proposition for you?”

Jude raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Agnes nodded, gaining some confidence in her next words. “So- this Sunday, Annabelle and Jane and I are going to the British Museum- you know, in London- we, uh, we sometimes do that kind of thing,” she said. 

“Sounds fun?” Jude shrugged a little, confused. 

“No, ah- well, yes, but, I just- I was just wondering. Do you… maybe want to come with us? I mean, you’ve sat at our table sometimes, so...”

“Come with you?”

“Yeah.”

“To a museum?”

“Yeah?”

Jude looked down at the asphalt, and then back at Agnes. “Sure.”

“I- wait, you said- you’ll come? You uh, you want to come?” Agnes stammered out. 

“Sure, why not.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the resounding, joyful ‘absolutely!’ that Agnes had hoped for, but things still turned out better than she expected. “Right! Okay, great, I guess I should- give you my number?”

They exchanged phones. Agnes typed her name into Jude’s contact list, filled with a feeling that she couldn’t quite name. That same heat was back, rising in Agnes’s cheeks and veins and bones and heart. She handed the phone back. “I should- I should go catch up with them. I’ll text you details later?”

“Yeah, that… that sounds good,” Jude said. 

Agnes fought to keep her smile inside. “Okay! Great! Um- bye, then.”

“Bye, Agnes.” Jude turned away, walking in the other direction. It gave Agnes the opportunity to do a small celebration, clenching her fist and bringing it in close with an almost inaudible ‘ _ yes!’. _

She jogged to catch up with the others, still warm and flushed, still thinking about the new number in her phone. Sunday was too far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing the martin part of this chapter physically hurt me. i am so sorry martin baby you deserve better. you are a darling and i adore you   
> anyway, thank you for reading! the amount of research i do pertaining to poetry and nonfiction books is a little Too Much at this point. i like neither of those genres. this was a problem i've put onto myself and i still regret nothing.  
> so, stay funky and stay fresh my dudes! my pals! my guys! Yeehaw


	10. 10/07-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i decided to write about a very specific museum i've never been to in a country i've never been to. take it from me kids, don't do that, you'll end up floundering through a virtual tour of the museum for three hours straight, pretty much for no reason. anyway i love jane here's a chapter

-Agnes Montague-

-10/07-

_ Spooky Lesbians uwu _

sent at 11:31, October 7

**me:** aight now who the fuck changed the name of the group chat

**janey:** i mean i think you can tell it wasn’t me?

**me:** okay yeah, you’re right, you’re perfect darling

**spider bitch:** Hahaha fuck you

**me:** change it back right now i stg annabelle

**_spider bitch_ ** _ changed chat name to Spooky Lesbians _

**spider bitch:** You’re no fun!!! :(((

**me:** <3

**spider bitch:** >:{

**janey:** speaking of fun, are we all good for tomorrow?

**spider bitch:** Oh hell yeah for sure for sure

**me:** actually, about that

**spider bitch:** Agnes

**janey:** ?

**me:** i kind of invited jude to come with us?

**spider bitch:** You What

**janey:** oh

**me:** she’s been at our lunch table lately and i thought she’d like to come!

**spider bitch:** Yeah, she’s been sitting at our fucking lunch table, but I didn’t know we were all suddenly best friends with her

**janey:** i mean it should be fine

**me:** i don’t get why this is such an issue? 

**me:** i know we aren’t that close with her, but like. this is the way that we Can get closer

**spider bitch:** We are the Spooky Lesbians, Agnes!! What if she’s straight? Have you thought about that? 

**janey:** i mean… does she look straight to you

**spider bitch:** No but that’s not the point

**me:** okay, i should have asked you guys before inviting her. i won’t do that again. but can she still come?

**spider bitch:** Fine

**janey:** sure! it’ll be exciting!

**me:** so we’re good! hype for tomorrow, i’m sure there are still some wings we haven’t memorized yet

**janey:** we’ll find something new

**janey:** i’m going to sleep! gnight

**me:** night! love you <3

**_janey_ ** _ is offline _

**_agnes_ ** _ is offline _

**spider bitch:** I love you too.

\- - - - -

-10/08-

Agnes leaned against the cool iron fence and thought,  _ well, at least it wasn’t the  _ weirdest  _ Uber ride I’ve ever taken.  _

No, the weirdest driver she’d ever had was a man she remembered to be named Joseph, with some sort of Italian surname that began with a G. He’d insisted on playing carnival music the entire time and didn’t stop smiling.  _ Creepily  _ smiling in a way that made her text half the people she knew and let them know where she was, and who was driving her. 

She’d made it to her destination with no problem that time, and scurried out of the car without hesitation. Still, she was unsettled for days after. 

Today, their driver had just been mildly abnormal. The trip fresh in her mind, Agnes could clearly remember his name- Mikaele Salesa. She’d lost a game of rock paper scissors with Jane and Annabelle, and therefore had to sit in the front passenger seat. 

Mikaele kept going on about how the antique business ‘isn’t what it used to be,’ and how utterly  _ dreadful  _ it was that he needed to drive people around to make up for lost business. He also shoved his business card at the three of them, as if a few sixteen year olds had the funds to buy luxuriously old pottery. 

He did, however, provide them with one useful fact, which is that there was a new vase of Chinese origin in an exhibit at The British Museum. Agnes didn’t lie when she said she’d be sure to check it out. 

“Is she almost here?” Annabelle asked, bouncing her back against the iron. She was getting antsy. 

For about eight minutes, the three of them had been waiting next to the gate entrance to the grounds of The British Museum. Since the year before, it was their favorite place to spend free weekends. They’d wander for hours through the rooms of sculptures and relics. The place could never become boring- there was always something new to notice, always another exhibition. 

Agnes didn’t mind waiting outside. The entrance to the museum was one of such architectural grandiose, just a single building but so much larger than her small self. The insignificance that a sole structure could make you feel fascinated Agnes. Intricate carvings etched into stone loomed above the entrance, artfully crafted pillars reaching down and down. She liked to imagine that they extended far into the earth. 

She checked her phone. “Jude said she’ll be here soon- at least it’s nice outside?”

Jane nodded. “I don’t mind waiting! I feel like I haven’t gone outside for more than five minutes in at least three weeks,” she said cheerfully. 

“Yeah, I second that,” Agnes said. 

As she looked up at the nearly clear sky, only dotted by a few wimpy clouds, there was a gust of wind. She fought to control her long red hair, hard to do even in stagnant air. When she managed to smooth it all down again, two familiar figures turned a corner and began walking down the other side of the street.

Agnes leaned forward to try and get a better look. “Do you guys see them?”

Annabelle was scrolling through something on her phone. She looked up at Agnes. “Who?”

“Across the street!” Agnes said, gesturing to the couple, about to be directly across from them. 

“Is that… Ms. James? And Mr. Stoker?” Jane asked. She as well stepped forward to try and see better. 

“Oh my god.” Annabelle’s phone dropped to her side. “That most certainly is- are they a  _ thing?” _

Agnes grimaced. “Ew. Straight people. Wouldn’t have expected that from Stoker.”

Jane quirked her head. “But you did for Ms. James?”

“Not the point, Jane,” Agnes sighed. “Well, good for them?”

Annabelle shook her head. “Nah, nah, this is new. I’d be the first to know if they were a thing, so if they are, it is  _ very  _ recent.”

Ms. James laughed at something, and then covered over her mouth with one hand. Mr. Stoker was also smiling profusely- they were adorable, Agnes couldn’t deny it. Then, with obvious hesitation, Mr. Stoker extended his hand to her. She took it and they intertwined fingers, connected hands falling to a gentle swing beside them. They were nearly on the other side of the block by now. 

“Why exactly would you be the first to know?” Jane asked. Annabelle crossed her arms. 

“Half the time, it’s  _ because  _ of me.”

Agnes asked for no further clarification on this. 

She focused so intensely on the two teachers walking down the street that, when a voice came from behind her, she almost jumped. “Hey.”

Agnes turned. Standing against the fence was Jude, who actually wore a leather jacket instead of only a tank top. Agnes found herself unable to keep from staring at the way the leather hugged Jude’s bicep, and how it matched her dark hair. 

“Oh, Jude! You’re- you’re here!” Agnes said, letting a small smile creep onto her face. 

“Yeah, I- I took the bus, and you know how things are with buses here- I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Annabelle began to reply, saying, “Well,  _ actually _ -” but Agnes cut her off. 

“No, you’re good! We didn’t mind at all.”

Jane raised a meek hand in greeting. “Hi Jude.”

Jude nodded once to her. “Jane.”

“Alright,” Agnes said, pushing herself off the iron fence, “let’s go in, then? Jude, have you been here before?”

The four girls passed through the open gate and walked down the familiar, wide path to the museum. Jude shook her head. “I haven’t, actually.”

“We come here all the time!” Jane said, beaming. “It’s fantastic! One of the largest, most fascinating museums in the world, and it’s both free  _ and  _ close to where we live.”

Annabelle pursed her lips. “Yep.”

Confused as to this sudden change in demeanor, Agnes looked over at Annabelle, and noticed something she hadn’t before. “Annabelle, what the hell does your shirt say?”

Her expression immediately changed from stoic to a mischievous smirk. “You can read, Agnes.”

She surely could. In white words on black fabric, the shirt read,  _ I eat oil paintings when security isn’t looking! _

“Where- where did you even  _ find  _ that?!” Agnes marveled. 

Annabelle shrugged. “I have my ways, darling.”

After heaving their way up the many stairs, they passed through security quickly, considering that none of them brought bags. They stepped out of the vestibule and into the large Great Court. 

The magnitude of even this first room of the museum never ceased to amaze Agnes, and despite their many trips there, she always had to stop and stare upward. The ceiling criss-crossed in an almost hypnotic pattern and warped with a rounded shape. 

The other three were about to continue on further, but stopped when Agnes did. Jane smiled at Jude- “She does this every time,” she said quietly.

“It’s incredible, how can you not?” Agnes asked. Her head was still craned upward, looking around at the geometrically carven walls and ceiling. Because of this, she nearly missed the way that Jude smiled, eyes crinkled in a happier look than she’d had in a while.

“It is… impressive. Incredible, really,” Jude said. 

Annabelle huffed in some sort of annoyance. “I’ll go find a map at the help desk. We can decide where to go.” Without another word, she walked off to where the help desk was, on the other side of the cavernous court. 

“I hope you don’t- well, I hope you don’t find museums boring?” Agnes asked. 

Jude shrugged. “Haven’t been in many. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s  _ better  _ than fine,” Jane said, and Agnes was again impressed by the way Jane could gently prod without acting all high-and-mighty- a skill she learned to respect after two years of friendship. 

Jude worried her lip, taking a few glances around her. “Yeah- yeah.”

After another moment of silence, Annabelle returned, brandishing a familiar map of the museum. “Alright, where haven’t we been before? Or at least haven’t spent much time?”

“I haven’t been anywhere,” Jude said, speaking in a joking tone that seemed distinctly unlike her. She immediately fell back into her normal self. 

Annabelle’s face was flat. “Yeah. I know.”

Agnes waited for someone to say something else, and thankfully, Jane did. “Ah- we haven’t checked out Level 2 much? I think that’s Chinese Ceramics and, um, Korea?”

“Chinese Ceramics- like what our driver was going on about?” Agnes asked. 

Jane nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s where it should be!”

“Your driver?” Jude asked, glancing between the two of them.

“We all took an Uber here,” Agnes explained. “We had some weird antique driver? Not that  _ he  _ was an antique, he didn’t seem particularly old or anything, but he kept… talking about them. Antiques.”

“Interesting.”

“Quite!”

As they began climbing the steps to Level 2, Jude was still looking around, but trying to hide her awe (it didn’t work very well). “Why do you come here so much?” she asked.

Annabelle sighed. “I don’t know, maybe we’re just knowledge-seekers who find museums  _ interesting.  _ Maybe we’re just fucking nerds.”

Agnes glared at Annabelle, who tilted her head in a vague but telling response. “Plus, Sims always says-” she attempted his deep voice and intense accent- “museums are important for learning culture as well as information! We need to be ‘actively engaged’ in seeking knowledge to win!”

“Winning quiz bowls, you mean?” Jude asked. 

“Yep. My intelligence is now determined by an annoying ass buzzer!”

Jane chuckled. “Isn’t that kind of what you signed up for, Agnes?”

She nodded. “Well- yeah. That, and listening to Sims rant for ten minutes at a time about whatever new topic he finds fascinating,” she said. 

“He does seem rather  _ eccentric _ ,” Jude commented. 

Annabelle snorted. “Eccentric. A gay disaster. Whatever you’d like to call it.”

Jude raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“For sure,” Jane said, nodding emphatically. “We have a theory that he and Mr. Banks have a thing- or did. There was tension at one of our earlier GSA meetings, when we started working on the bathrooms.”

Frowning, Jude’s eyes showed thoughts racing behind. “Hm. Interesting. I think he and Mr. Blackwood would be better, though,” she said. 

“Didn’t Michael say something like that too?” Agnes asked, and Annabelle nodded.

“Yeah. Star signs or some shit, I don’t know.”

They’d reached the landing at Level 2, and Agnes only saw a few other people wandering among the lighted displays of ceramics. They stopped by the sign next to the entrance to the maze of ceramics. “Blackwood is- he cares,” Jude said. “A little  _ too  _ much, if you ask me. He and Sims would just… fit well.”

Annabelle huffed. “How about we stop theorizing about our teachers’ fucking love lies and just- just look at the ceramics and shit?”

Agnes glanced at her again, more concerned than annoyed now. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes somehow looking darker than they were before. Agnes shook it off- perhaps Annabelle was just very interested in Chinese ceramics. 

They stepped into the collection, Agnes’s boots clicking on the smooth hardwood floor. This was one of the newest parts of the museum- sleek, black and white walls, a direct opposition to the ancient works inside the cases. Agnes breathed in the calm air and let it flood through her. 

She stopped to admire a set of small bowls shaped like flowers. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Jude standing behind her, biting her lip and glancing around as if lost. Agnes took a step back so they were shoulder to shoulder. “I’m sure this isn’t the most exciting exhibit for a new museum goer,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle and Jane were a few cases away, peering at an intricately designed bowl. Jude shrugged. “It is. But- well, isn’t the hardest part finding where to start?”

Smiling, Agnes took her hand and led her to a long display, letting go as they stood in front of it. She pointed to a card in front of several ceramics. “The good thing is, there’s not exactly a plot to museums, so we can start anywhere- why not here?”

Jude looked frozen, and glanced up and down Agnes. She continued on. “Here- this says these are funerary urns, with a- a celadon glaze. Look at the animals applied on top- oh, do you want to know something cool about those?”

“Ah- sure?”

“Those are two of the ‘Four Animals of the Directions,’ these Chinese mythological creatures. That one-” she pointed to a figure on the left side- “is the White Tiger of the West, and the one on the right, that’s the Green Dragon of the East. Artists started using them on coffins and tombs after the Han dynasty.”

Jude chuckled. “How do you know so much about those?”

She shrugged, and moved them along to the next case. “I like history- history and literature, those are my ACC specialties.”

And so they kept going, reading plaques in front of the ceramics, with Agnes interjecting whatever random knowledge she knew. Jude always looked at her with those intense eyes, wide and becoming increasingly more interested as they went on. 

She could no longer see Annabelle and Jane- they must have progressed into another room, leaving the other two behind, whether by intention or not. 

Agnes stooped in front of a glass display, one with only a single object inside. “This the Ming vase that our weird ass Uber driver was talking about,” she said. “This is a fascinating one, actually.” Agnes peered closer at the geometric designs painted on the side. 

Jude looked over her shoulder. “Aren’t they all?”

Agnes looked back at her and smiled. “Now you’re getting the spirit! And yes, but this one especially- in Ming ceramics, you usually find more floral, historical, and mystical designs- they painted with pictures. But this one is only geometric, and that’s really an anomaly.”

It was also an anomaly in the way that the lines twisted and wound in a hypnotic pattern. Agnes tore her gaze away, afraid of contracting a headache. One side of Jude’s mouth quirked up. “You- you know so much about these, it’s amazing- you’re amazing.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then a different voice. “Agnes! Jude! Are you guys coming? Annabelle and I are about ready to go to the Korea collection,” Jane called from a nearby doorway. Agnes straightened up.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” she said. 

Jane nodded and disappeared again into the room she and, assumedly, Annabelle were in. 

There was a vibration in Agnes’s pocket. She pulled out her phone and, upon seeing the message, sighed heavily. 

“What is it?” Jude asked, leaning against the case. She quickly realized her mistake and stood up straight again. 

“It’s- it’s from Jack.” She clicked it open and read the whole thing. “I thought I blocked him,” she muttered. 

**_###-###-####:_ ** _ Hey Agnes! It’s me, Jack. I got a new phone, so I thought I’d text you. Are you doing anything next weekend? We could grab a coffee or just walk around, it doesn’t even have to be a date! _

Agnes turned off her phone. “It’s- it’s nothing.”

Jude scowled. “It isn’t fucking  _ nothing,  _ you said no and he needs to stop.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. “You’ve told him and I’ve told him, that asshole needs to be taught a  _ lesson _ .”

Agnes shook her head. “He’s- he’s young, and yeah it sucks, but don’t do anything drastic, yeah?”

Jude hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I won’t,” she said. 

They walked to the room where Jane and Annabelle were reading about a replica of a Korean  _ serangbang.  _ They looked up when the others entered the room.

“Decided to join us?” Annabelle asked. 

Jane muttered something to her, and Annabelle looked down, nodding. “I- I’m glad you did, at least,” she added. 

They spent nearly another hour wandering levels two and three of the museum. Agnes still gushed about any facts she knew, and Jude cracked a few jokes about how similar she was acting to Sims, but always with a stubborn smile on her face. 

Annabelle hung back and didn’t say much. Jane kept going to her, saying things quietly to her that Agnes couldn’t hear, but wanted to. 

-

Thanking the two people sitting there, Agnes pulled an unused chair away from another table and to their own. She plopped down into her seat. 

The Court Cafe was overpriced, but often the girls were too lazy to actually  _ leave  _ the museum to get food. Thankfully, there’s no fee to enter the museum, so sandwiches that are a few pounds too expensive didn’t seem a huge problem. Agnes started taking hers out of the package.

Jane, right next to her at the table, stood up. “The restroom is just next to the book shop, right?” 

“I don’t know how you don’t have the layout memorized yet, but yes,” Agnes said. 

Jane shrugged at this. “Directions  _ are  _ rather difficult- well, I’ll be back then.” She walked away, presumably to go to the bathroom.

Jude was still in line to pay for her food. Considering that the two of them were alone at the table now, Agnes decided to use this opportunity to talk to Annabelle. 

“Hey, what’s up with you today?”

Annabelle, about to take a bite of her packaged salad, paused. “What do you mean?”

Agnes sighed. “You’ve kind of been an asshole,” she said. 

It fell quiet. Annabelle put her fork down. “Can you really blame me?”

“I- what?”

She quirked her head to where Jude was standing, next in line for the register. “You- you act like Jude is all of a sudden a part of  _ us,  _ because she- she sat with us a few times at lunch? I don’t really mind her company, but you  _ know  _ how we’ve seen her before. How everyone sees her. Remember that time she nearly broke Sergey’s nose over a design project?”

Agnes bit her bottom lip. “And when Mr. Banks opened her water bottle and could light the ‘water’ on fire in Chemistry last year,” she mumbled. 

Annabelle nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Look, she can live her life however she wants, but-” she frowned and glanced back over at Jude- “we’re the top of our class, Agnes. We only have this year and next year before college. We can’t afford her reputation.”

Neither of them spoke for several seconds, Agnes looking down at the table. She raised her head again. “I understand what you mean. But she isn’t a lost cause, she isn’t hopeless, I-” Agnes paused. “I like her, Annabelle. I really do. I think the least we can do is give her a chance.”

“You- you like her?”

“As- as a friend. I… like her. I think she’s cool.”

“Right.”

Agnes bounced her knee under the table. “So, ah- will you? Give her a chance, I mean?”

“ _ You _ like her. I’m not so sure. Look, she can hang around with us sometimes, but- but the second, I mean the  _ second,  _ she pulls some shit, we’re done. Okay?”

A moment later, Jude sat down at the table, sandwich in hand. The matter was dropped- but Agnes didn’t forget. She didn’t think Annabelle would, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm gay? gay  
> anyway i made the museum parts of this as accurate as possible, and you can totally find those funerary urns i was talking about on The British Museum's collection thingy on their website. this chapter only took so long for me to write bc i went down a rabbit hole of chinese ceramic information. also literally every character i write about in this story is from tma, i'm not sure i've introduced a Single original character. and it's kinda fun  
> anyway be gay do crime let's go lesbians ahhhhhhh stay funky stay fresh. annabelle wants to put jude in gay baby jail. Yeehaw


	11. 10/13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnngh it is midnight and i wrote all of this in like the past three hours. i'm tired i don't feel like editing, fuck you, it'll be Fine im sure  
> anyway, am i going to project all of my issues onto jon??? yes!! i am!! he's autistic and nobody can tell me otherwise that is All  
> CW for sensory overload and police mentions

-Martin Blackwood-

-10/13-

Martin took a few steps down the risers and looked at the wall. He crossed his arms. “Does that look level to you guys?”

From where she was straining to hold a large banner, Melanie looked over at him. “This is the sophomore section, do you think they’ll actually care?”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

Given that it was Martin’s free afternoon class, Elias told him to help set up for the first pep rally of the school year. He wouldn’t have been happy about this task- but when he walked into the gymnasium, Sasha, Basira, and Melanie were already starting to put up student-made posters. They made the job more tolerable. 

Melanie managed to get the banner in place and stepped down off the risers. The four of them stood nearly shoulder to shoulder on the wooden floor and checked around the walls one last time. 

Basira shrugged. “Looks fine to me,” she said, and then sat down on the nearest bleachers. The others quickly joined her, still with a few minutes before any of the kids should show up. The drummers and cheerleaders were making loud but muffled noises from the hallway. 

“God, I fucking hate pep rallies.” Melanie propped a leg up on the bleacher she sat on and laid her back down. “Ruins the whole damn Friday.”

Martin had also never been particularly fond of them in high school- loud, crowded, obnoxious things, events he was forced to attend despite never giving a shit about sports. He would’ve much preferred waiting it out in the art room. Even as a teacher, these were duties he couldn’t escape. 

“Well, I’m sure game night will make up for it,” Sasha said. “Basira, you said you’re actually making dinner this time?”

She nodded. “Yeah, because none of you fucks have any alcohol tolerance on cookies alone. And we don’t want to make a fool of ourselves the first time we meet a new kind-of colleague.”

“Wait, who?” Martin asked, racking his brain for what they were talking about. 

Melanie answered quickly. “ _ Georgie Barker!” _

“You’d know,” Sasha laughed. “I’m almost fully certain that tonight is the only thing you’ve thought about this whole week.”

Basira raised her eyebrows. “That’s pretty gay of you, Melanie.”

“I- you’re living with your girlfriend of two years!” Melanie said, scoffing. 

Basira leant back a little, having to adjust her hijab as she did so. “You’re not wrong.” A beat. “Actually, I was hoping to tell you guys something.”

Sasha swung her legs behind the bleacher to look at Basira directly. Martin did the same. “Yeah, of- of course,” he said, the others meeting similar conclusions. 

She took a breath, and then smiled. “I think I’m going to propose to Daisy soon.”

There was silence for a moment. Her expression shifted from excited to concerned. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Sasha shook her head emphatically. “Ah- no, no! Of course not! It’s a great idea, I think,” she said, glancing at Martin and Melanie for reassurance. They slowly nodded with her. 

Well, Martin figured, at least neither of them would say  _ no.  _ It was just a race as to who proposed first. He couldn’t wait to tell Jon about this at the pep rally. 

The past week had been truly good for Martin. After Jon left the book on Martin’s desk, a gesture that filled him with warmth whenever he thought of it, they had something to easily talk about. When Jon wasn’t furiously typing something on his laptop (Martin still didn’t know what that could be), they’d be talking in the break room, their discussions usually beginning with the books they traded but often going further. At least, as far as they could go before their lunch break was over. 

They were, by no means, the best of friends. Probably not even  _ good  _ ones. But hearing Jon’s voice directed at him without any malice, with actual  _ interest,  _ filled Martin with just enough hope to keep his feelings alive. 

Really, if Jon was mean to him again, things would be easier. But Martin wouldn’t change their progress for the world. 

“We’re really all pairing up, huh?” Sasha joked. “You and Daisy, Tim and I, Jon and Oliver…”

_ “Jon  _ and  _ Oliver _ ?” Martin asked, overlaid by Melanie’s questioning shouts about her and Tim. They both fell quiet. 

Sasha smiled and looked down at her feet for a brief moment. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but- on Sunday, Tim and I went on a date, and then another on Wednesday. It was actually- really good? We probably won’t put a label or anything on it, not for a while, but it’s something.”

As happy as Martin felt for Sasha, he had more important questions. He asked them over Melanie and Basira’s congratulations. “I’m sorry, I- Jon? And Oliver?”

Melanie frowned. “Oh, I thought you’d know, Martin.”

A bolt of something rushed through his body. Martin certainly did not know. 

“We’re all pretty sure that they had some sort of ‘thing’ over the summer,” Basira said nonchalantly, as if this news wasn’t threatening to tear Martin apart from the inside. “They never explicitly  _ said  _ it- but we all saw them, you know?”

Martin nodded, his mouth dry. “Mhm. Yeah. Right.”

His racing thoughts were interrupted by the click of the heavy gymnasium doors, and then the muffled pounding of drums became clear. The teachers scrambled to stand against the opposite wall and let the students pour in. 

Many of the signs they’d hung before had been labelling each section of the gym for a different grade level. The students slotted themselves onto the bleachers of wherever they were assigned, arranging themselves into small almost-formations depicting who they were friends with. Martin noticed the more outgoing students, one who would no doubt participate in the pep rally activities, chatting on the lowest and most frontal risers. The ones like his own high school self retreated to the back and put in earbuds. 

As the amount of students increased in the room, so did the volume, echoing off of the large roof and empty floor. A few sports captains were in the middle of the room, as well as the cheerleaders standing by the entrance. A student even blasted music from a desk in the corner, that was barely audible over the cacophony of voices. 

Martin shrunk back against the wall where some of the other teachers were also starting to collect. He very much hoped the next one and a half periods would go quickly. 

Behind a gaggle of children coming through the door, there was a familiar face, one that made Martin feel  _ some  _ level of comfort. Jon walked in and viewed the pep rally with a critical eye. Flush to the bleachers lining the room, Jon crossed over to Martin with minimal interaction, stopping only once to exchange a quick word with the man Martin had learned to be Amherst. 

Martin straightened up when he saw that Jon was heading directly towards him. For a moment, he felt nervous about this, but also far too happy. And then he remembered Oliver. Fuck. 

Jon pressed himself against the wall, and as Martin tried to discreetly look over at him, he could see Jon’s hand dip into his shirt sleeve. They fidgeted with something there. “Ah- hi, Jon,” Martin said. They were just less than a meter apart. 

Jon nodded at him. “Martin- hello.”

Martin didn’t speak for another moment. The pep rally hadn’t even started yet, and the noise was overwhelming. “So, ah- pep rallies, right? They uh… kinda suck.” Damn Martin, real smooth. 

He could find only one positive to the Oliver situation- no way in hell was Jon straight. Not that Martin, truly, ever thought he’d been. 

Jon bit his lip. “You are- very much right. I’ve never enjoyed them, myself.”

Martin often thought about kissing Jon- it was kind of a problem, really. But now he couldn’t stop thinking about Jon kissing  _ Oliver,  _ and it fucking hurt. Martin knew he had no claim to Jon, no reason to believe the other returned any feelings, but he hated it nonetheless. 

“I’m excited to meet Georgie tonight!” Martin said, smiling. Jon didn’t look back at him- just stared into the distance, eyes not focused on anything in particular. Martin tapped his fingers against the wall. 

Jon nodded, shutting his eyes tightly. “Right- right, ah, yes. I just- would rather not talk right now? I’m sorry.”

There was a pang of hurt, but Martin pushed it away, knowing that Jon’s voice held no malice. In the past few weeks, the annoyance and apathy slowly leaked from Jon during their conversations until he was very nearly  _ friendly.  _

“Oh- yeah, uh, of course, Jon,” Martin said. 

He spotted Elias across the room, talking to a tall and broad man with white hair and a beard. It took a moment for the man to register as Peter Lukas- someone who Martin had only seen once or twice before. Lukas put a hand on Elias’s shoulder and then walked away. There was the faint glint of metal on his finger. 

Tim picked up a microphone from the audio table, where the student turned down the blasting music. He tapped it and then walked into the middle of the gymnasium. 

As a gym teacher, he apparently was given the role of MC for pep rallies, considering that Elias found himself far too high-and-mighty for the task. Pretentious asshole. Daisy was off to the side of the room, organizing some sort of activity. 

“Alright alright, classes of Magnus Memorial, make some  _ noise _ !” Tim shouted. The chorus of voices grew louder for a moment, whooping and cheering from the bleachers. Just from a quick glance around, Martin saw Michael and Gerry together in the back of the sophomore section, mouths closed. They didn’t seem the type to cheer. 

“As we all know,  _ tonight  _ is the  _ first  _ game of the football season, so give it up for- your-  _ Owls! _ ” 

As Tim’s booming voice filled the gym (he really did have a skill for public speaking, somehow), the football team trotted from the side to the center of the gymnasium. Just as the shouts had died down from before, they started back up again, loud screams of support filling the room- it was nearly deafening. Martin shrunk back against the wall.  _ God,  _ how he despised these. 

As Tim went on to introduce each football player on the team, the noise level lowered a bit, hanging at a dull roar instead of an obnoxious one. It was then, as he wasn’t being entirely deafened, that Martin could hear a heavy, shaky breath being exhaled. 

He turned to look at Jon. This is when Martin realized that Melanie, Basira, and Sasha were a considerable distance away, and the two of them were the only ones near each other. They’d nearly been tucked into a corner behind a sparsely populated section of bleachers as well. Martin was visible by the students, but Jon less so. 

Jon’s fingers were pressed against the tragus of his ear. His head was bent slightly downward, eyes tightly shut. Martin took another glance around- still, nobody was in reach of a few meters. He’d known that. 

Martin came closer and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Um- Jon?”

Jon moved away from his touch, and Martin quickly retracted his hand. “Are- are you alright?”

He gave a small nod. Martin didn’t believe it. “Jon- what’s wrong?”

No answer was given, but Jon opened his eyes and looked at Martin, his lips pursed. 

Oh. That makes sense. 

Martin looked to his right- thankfully, in the center of this wall, there were doors leading to the outside of the building. He turned back to Jon. “We can leave- there are doors on this wall. I’ll get you outside. Is that okay?”

Jon nodded. Martin, making sure not to touch him- despite that being instinct- led them slowly along the wall, making sure not to attract attention. This was easy considering that the cheerleaders were filing into the middle of the room. 

Martin opened the heavy metal door and propped it with his foot. Jon had taken his hands away from his ears and was rubbing one palm with his thumb. He got outside the door and immediately sat down against the brick wall of the building. Martin, taking one last look at the crowded LED lit inside, shut the door. The noises became distant and muddled. 

Jon was taking deep breaths and had his fingers wrapped in a complicated pattern of his hair elastic. Without saying anything, Martin sat down next to him, making sure their shoulders didn’t brush. He waited as Jon calmed down- maybe he said a few things to him, reassuring phrases that barely meant much of anything. But after a few moments, Jon’s shaky hands rested atop his knees. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Martin shook his head. “No, Jon, you- you don’t have to be sorry. I understand.”

Jon tilted his head back and let it rest against the rough brick. “Every year, I try, I- I think I’ll have it under control. And then-” he let out a dry chuckle- “I don’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Martin said. “You know it isn’t your fault, right? It’s- it’s okay. And I’m- well, I’m happy to help. Always.”

“I hate it. I fucking hate it.”

They sat in silence for another moment. The sidewalk was hard under Martin and the sky overcast. Midway through October now, a chilly wind blew, and he found himself wishing he’d brought his light jacket with him for the pep rally. But that was okay. He didn’t mind this. 

Jon turned to look at Martin, his thumb still rubbing his other palm. “Why do you care so much, Martin?”

Martin’s breath hitched. “I- what?”

Jon shook his head and wrapped his arms around his legs. “I- I really don’t mean that  _ badly _ , I just- you care. A lot. Not just about me, about- well, everyone,” he said. 

Martin paused for a moment to process this. It seemed almost like a compliment, but more of a genuine question. He thought about knitting a blanket for a woman he knew wouldn’t appreciate it, going out of his way to help a student branded as a ‘delinquent,’ fighting for Jon’s acceptance for a month. He sighed. “Because I need to, I think. I can’t  _ not. _ ”

They locked eyes. Jon looked away for a moment, but then back again, as if fighting something inside and losing terribly. Martin couldn’t help but let the edge of his mouth turn up into a small smile. Jon’s gaze flicked slightly down, and Martin’s breath halted once again, frozen in this moment in time that seemed to go on and on and on. 

Something changed in Jon’s eyes. He broke away and stood up quickly. “I- I need to go. I need to go.” 

He began to briskly walk away, and Martin shifted on his knees. “I- I’ll see you later!” Martin called. But Jon didn’t even look back, just stuffed his hands in his pockets and disappeared inside the entrance on the other side of the parking lot.

Martin huffed and slumped back against the wall. Right. 

\- - - - -

“And then- and then these little  _ shits,  _ all these white fuckers at this house party, starting screaming ‘fuck da police!’ and I just-” Daisy laughed- “had no idea what to do. I mean, some kid took a shit on the computer keyboard I found? Half of them just started diving out of windows.”

Tim took a swig of his beer. “They were right, you know, fuck da police.”

Basira laughed. “Did you mean that as in, the current policing system is inherently racist and abuses citizens rather than looking out for them and directly enforces capitalism,  _ or,  _ do you mean that you want to literally fuck police?”

“Both,” he shrugged. 

Basira opened the oven and reached inside with oven mitts on, pulling a large glass pan out. She placed it on the stovetop and Daisy leaned over and kissed her cheek. 

“That’s why we  _ left _ ,” Daisy said. “ACAB, ya know?”

Everyone standing around the kitchen island raised their glass or bottle. “ACAB!” Martin took a large sip of his seltzer water. 

Tonight, most of them had opted for either a non-alcoholic or low alcohol drinking, trying to stay sensible their first time meeting Georgie. Georgie, who hadn’t shown up to Daisy and Basira’s house yet with Jon. 

Melanie walked over to the oven and peered over Basira’s shoulder. “Shit, that smells good- what’d ya make?”

Basira reached over the oven and grabbed a large spatula from their utensil holder. She started cutting into the dish. “Macaroni and cheese, my good recipe, because the couple of you white folks there are here can’t handle any spice in your lives.”

Martin gawked. “I- I can handle spice! I  _ like  _ spicy food!” Basira turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. 

“Sure you can, white boy,” Sasha said, the others laughing along with her. There was a knock at the door. 

“Coming!” Daisy shouted. She turned the corner out of the kitchen and disappeared, leaving them to hear only her footsteps and then the door opening. Martin could just faintly hear a car rush by. He recognized Jon’s voice- god, so  _ deep  _ and  _ rich  _ and  _ wonderful _ \- and an unfamiliar woman as well. Must be Georgie. 

The door closed and soon enough, the three of them were entering the kitchen. Georgie raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, guys! I’m Georgie.”

Despite the new revelation of Jon and Oliver’s relation, whether past or present, Martin couldn’t help but wonder if Jon had been with Georgie at some point. Considering the way she looked, he must’ve been. Martin glanced over her dark, flawless skin, and bright eyes with an uncommon aesthetic appreciation. If he weren’t entirely gay, there’d been no way for him to  _ not  _ be attracted to her. 

“Ah- Georgie,” Jon started, “meet Martin, Daisy, Basira, Tim, Sasha, and Melanie.” He gestured to each of them in turn. Georgie smiled and greeted them all, and then turned to Melanie, who had moved away from Basira. She now stood just a bit away from Georgie. 

Georgie’s eyes widened. “Oh my god- you’re Melanie King!” she said. 

Melanie quirked her head. “That’s… me? I’m the one who should be shocked, you do  _ What The Ghost! _ ”

Shaking her head, Georgie held out a hand to the other woman. “You’re from Ghost Hunt UK, I- I love your videos! They’re so well researched and produced, I’ve gotten so much inspiration from them, I- it’s incredible to meet you!”’

Melanie shook her hand, smiling harder than Martin had seen her do before. “Wow, I- you don’t know how amazing it is to hear you say that!”

They separated hands, but remained beaming, turning away from each other and back to the group. “Georgie, would you like something to drink?” Basira asked. She shrugged.

“Ah- water’s fine?”

Basira gave her the glass and they once again were circled around the kitchen island. Tim had taken to sitting atop the counter, swinging his legs underneath him. Basira regarded him with a critical eye but said nothing. 

“You guys want to start eating now?” Daisy asked. Her question was met with general agreement, and Basira doled out the meal onto small plates, passing them off to each member of their group. Martin stared down at his own serving. 

Thank god Basira could cook so well, because they all happened to know that Daisy was a  _ disastrous  _ cook and hadn’t eaten a homemade meal for about 5 years before moving in with Basira. The anecdote seemed to be one Basira told as often as possible, with Daisy always punching her in the arm but laughing as well by the end. 

Martin took no hesitation in digging in. He ate while listening to the conversation around him, half of the group perched on stools at the back of the island, others up on the counter or just standing. The thought of eating at an actual dinner table appalled the group of queer people. 

“So, Georgie,” Sasha began, “Jon said you two met at Oxford?”

She nodded and waited to respond after swallowing. “Yeah, we- damn this is good, thank you Basira- we met sophomore year of uni, right Jon?”

He sighed. “Yes, and  _ please  _ don’t tell them all that much, I’ve fought to keep myself an enigma.”

“Oh no no,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Now that I’ve heard  _ that,  _ I must know more, Jonny boy!”

“Please don’t call me that.”

Georgie poorly hid her laugh. “ _ Right.  _ Well, anyway, we met in our second year of uni, dated for- what, a year and a half?” she glanced at Jon for confirmation, who nodded and looked down. “We decided we were definitely better off as friends, and have remained so. Besides, I don’t really like my boys  _ edgy.  _ And usually not at all.”

Melanie raised her eyebrows, and Tim leaned forward, eyes glinting in the light from above the counter. “ _ Edgy _ ?” A good half of them asked at once.

Hand covering his face, Jon groaned. “Christ, Georgie, what have I ever done to you?”

She snorted. “So much, Jonathan, so much.”

“ _ Please  _ tell us more,” Daisy said. She had her palm under her chin, pressed tightly against Basira as they often were. 

Martin desperately wanted to hear about this as well. He often looked at pictures of steampunk-mechs Jon- well, okay, that sounded creepy, but it really wasn’t- however  _ edgy  _ Jon was an entirely different mental image. He looked over at Jon, who seemed to already be staring in Martin’s direction, and quickly averted his eyes. 

“ _ Well,  _ when Jon was in uni, let’s just say he still liked blasting Green Day and Paramore in the dorm,” she said. 

Jon sighed even louder. “I beg you to please shut up.” The attempt was feeble at best. 

The other leaned in closer to Georgie, and Martin imagined an emo Jon in university, wearing all black. He thought of Gerry, and realized that might be a significant reason why Jon felt them to be so similar. 

“Oh no, I most certainly do not- these fine people deserve to know the truth!” Georgie said. “He would wear eyeshadow in about five layers. Had all these posters in his dorm of bands and David Bowie, had a face just  _ filled  _ with metal. I definitely still have pictures.”

Tim gasped. “Emo Jon? Oh my god, there is no way I can not see those pictures, you are the best person I’ve ever  _ met,  _ Georgie,” he said. 

It didn’t take long for Georgie to be added into the  _ teacher gang teacher gang teacher gang  _ group chat, and she immediately sent about a dozen photos from their university years. Jon failed with a feeble attempt to stop her, but really, once that wave began forming, there was no way to stop it. Martin stared at the pictures of Jon with shoddily dyed black hair and immediately saved them to his phone. 

Sasha clicked on one of the pictures and held her phone out. “What’s this? Jon with a  _ guitar _ ?”

At this point, Jon’s head was on the breakfast counter part of the kitchen island, his dark hair spread out around his head. “ _ Fuck, _ ” he grumbled. 

Georgie patted him on the back. “Just making a good impression, darling.”

Melanie scrolled on her phone. “No, for real- what’s up with the guitar?”

Martin opened the picture in question. Jon was sitting on a twin bed with black sheets, propping up an electric guitar next to him. Georgie held a hairbrush like a microphone, sharing the black clothing but not much else in common with Jon’s more intense look. “Jonny here is actually quite the musician,” Georgie said with a knowing smile. 

Martin caught her eye from across the island. “ _ The Mechs _ ?” He mouthed. She nodded in his direction. 

“Oh god, not you too.” Jon’s words were heavily muffled by the marble his face rested on. 

Daisy’s mouth opened and closed. “I- musician? Jon, you very much never told us about this, I’m offended.”

He raised his head slightly. “Yes. This is why.” 

Basira’s eyes brightened. “Oh- I have an idea.” She turned to Daisy. “Do we still have that guitar up in the guest room that neither of us know how to play but keep around just in case?”

Daisy snapped her fingers. “We definitely do. I’ll go grab it,” she said. 

Jon straightened up, eyes slightly bleary. “No. No, absolutely not.” 

Daisy had already left the kitchen and was climbing up the stairs. Martin heard a door open, and then after a moment, closed again. She hurried back down the stairs with an acoustic guitar in one hand. “Jon, you can’t escape this. There are too many of us.”

Begrudgingly, he took the guitar. “I hate all of you. Every single one of you.”

Georgie put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “You know you don’t- now play us a tune, music man.”

“I never should’ve brought you here, should I?”

“ _ I  _ think it was a great idea,” Melanie said, and exchanged a glance with Georgie. 

“Play us a song! Play us a song!” Tim started, and then Daisy joined, and then Georgie, then Melanie, then Sasha, Basira, and lastly Martin, who reluctantly but enthusiastically uttered the chant. There were fists banged on the counter. 

“Fine, fine,” Jon conceded, and their words in unison faded away. He huffed. “Just- one song.”

Daisy pumped a fist in the air. “To the living room, folks!”

A minute later, Jon had settled into a chair across from the sofa, where a few of them were crammed- namely Daisy, Basira, and Sasha. The others were propped up on the ground by the sofa. Martin hugged one knee to his chest and took a sip of seltzer, setting the glass back down on the carpet next to him. His shoulder pressed against Tim’s. 

Jon set the guitar on his lap and sighed. “I- I have to do this!”

They all shouted varying sentiments that rounded up to  _ yes! _

“Alright.” He strummed once, and looked up at Daisy and Basira. “This is- actually in tune. I’m… surprised.”

Tim threw something small at him, Martin had no idea what it was. “Boo! Stop stalling!” he shouted. 

Jon took a deep breath. “Right. Okay.” Martin settled in closer to the sofa, letting his back relax. 

He began a complicated strum, one with picking and constant movement. It sounded like a song Martin knew well. A melody that felt like home to him, filled him with a nostalgia and warm melancholy. Then Jon started singing. 

Martin knew this voice from countless hours of listening and relistening to albums, but he’d never heard it in person, never felt the deep vibrations in his chest that threatened to burst him open. He sat still and frozen, enraptured. 

_ And reading your mind is never going to yield an answer _

_ Why don’t I learn my lesson _

_ Most of the time it’s just uneducated guessing _

_ That justice to depression _

It wasn’t a popular song, but Martin knew it well, listened to it often a few years ago.  _ Reocurring Dream  _ by Ethan Gruska. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ He was nearly lightheaded with how fast his heart beat inside his chest, pounding against his ribcage. 

Jon’s voice sounds like poetry to Martin. Long before they met, it did, his words inspiring such emotions in Martin that he had to  _ write it down.  _

A strand of hair fell in front of Jon’s face as he played intensely, eyes half closed as he sang out clear and whole notes. Martin stopped hearing the song fully. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except the shifting expression of Jon’s face, the delicate movements as he formed the lyrics. Martin wanted to study him, catalogue this beauty like a literary masterpiece. 

The song ended. Martin really didn’t want it to. 

Silence hung heavy and expectant in the air for a moment before they all started clapping, a few even cheering for the performance. Jon set the guitar aside and was left with the residue of a smile. 

“Was that so bad, Jon?” Georgie asked.

He shrugged. “I- well, I guess not.”

  
  


“See you Tim, bye Sasha,” Basira said, closing the door behind the two. Georgie and Jon were both grabbing their jackets near the front door as Martin helped clean up the living room. Georgie gestured to the kitchen.

“You mind if I go talk to Melanie before we leave?”

Jon shrugged on his coat. “Not at all.” 

Georgie turned the corner into the kitchen, and Jon and Martin were left along in the living room again. He was distinctly reminded of a similar scene a few weeks earlier. 

They didn’t speak for a long moment. Martin thought briefly that, maybe they shouldn’t, but knew it would be better if he did. 

“Jon, are you- you’re okay?”

Jon’s back was turned to him, but he visibly stiffened. “Yes.”

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, great, because I was worried after earl-”

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

_ Oh.  _ That malice, the annoyance that Martin had to deal with in their first weeks of speaking was… back. 

Jon turned around. “I’d rather not speak about it,” he said. 

Martin froze, confused, but then nodded. “Yeah, sure, of- of course. If that helps.”

“I don’t need help,” Jon snapped. 

Georgie came back into the room at that moment, and Martin had an excuse to look away, fighting to hold in tears. Fighting to keep it together. 

“Ready to leave?” Georgie asked. Jon nodded.

“Yeah.”

She opened the door and quickly turned around. “Bye, Martin! See you later!” 

He raised a meek hand in goodbye. As soon as the door shut, he flopped back against the couch, rubbing his temple. What the hell had he done to Jon? Helped him in a moment where he needed it?

The weekend wasn’t a fun one for Martin, especially with the newest nonfiction book from Jon staring him down. He couldn’t bring himself to read it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! a nice jonmartin centric chapter, that i can do. this may or may not be based on how my school forces all the students to go to pep rallies, despite the fact that i easily get overwhelmed by all of the voices and the music and the drums and it just sucks. i will project every problem i have onto jonathan sims and hope that none are left! hahaha  
> anyway listen to reoccurring dream by ethan gruska, it's on the playlist for this fic now and i Love that song. very jon-esque with some of the lyrics  
> anyway, thank you for reading! stay funky and stay fresh. Yeehaw  
> (link to the fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyemTaP5AWaM5UPy9WdJ-MJy )


	12. 10/14-24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i'm updating a day earlier than i'm supposed to. i'm impatient. appreciate me  
> this is what i call a 'scene clusterfuck,' and it's exactly what it sounds like! i was going to do a martin part of this chapter too, but things happen, so here y'all go

-Agnes Montague-

-10/14-

Saturdays were the busiest shifts at PanoptiCoffee, Agnes quickly found out. This was only her second weekend working there and, despite the pattern consisting of only two experiences, she could tell that this would become regular. James even assigned a third person to their shift- Danny, which wasn’t surprising, considering that their staff still consisted of only four people. 

Annabelle handed a cup of coffee to a customer, the last in line. They’d have a moment to breathe. Only the two girls were standing behind the counter, as Danny baked some more pastries in the back room. Agnes stood up from her refill-the-glass-case crouching position.

She checked her phone- 2:30. Last Saturday, Jude came in the shop while she was on shift, and though their talk had been brief, she very much enjoyed it. That’d been the day before their museum trip. 

Agnes knew that Jude wouldn’t be coming today. The other girl hadn’t  _ said  _ anything to her about not coming, but that seemed to be part of the problem. Jude barely said anything to her all week. 

Any time Agnes saw her in class or bumped into her in the cafeteria, Jude slipped away after one or two words. She’d be left standing confused and slightly shocked. At the museum, when they spoke, it felt so natural. Like exactly the thing she was meant to be doing. Somehow, it felt like something had been ripped away from her, as quickly as she’d gotten it. 

Annabelle drummed her long fingernails on the table. “I was  _ almost  _ used to all these weird ass drinks, and then James added special ‘Halloween items.’ Who orders specialty Halloween drinks? Christ.”

Agnes laughed. “Annabelle,  _ you  _ would, and you know it,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t be proud of it, though,” Annabelle muttered. 

“We work at a supernaturally themed coffee shop. I honestly don’t know what you expected in October.”

Annabelle wasn’t entirely wrong. The decorating they’d done after hours looked just a little extreme now in daylight, with plastic spiders hanging from large swathes of the ceiling and fake cobwebs stretched wherever they could be. Multiple more skulls made of styrofoam were placed on bookshelves, ‘spooky’ LED candles on the tables. Agnes found the place endearing. 

“Hey, did you guys water the plants Wednesday?”

Danny leaned his head out from the back room, his black apron covered in flour. Even a bit of the white powder had somehow settled in his black hair. When Agnes found out she’d be working with one of her teacher’s younger sibling, she felt nervous at first, as if Danny would go home and immediately tell Mr. Stoker about all her shit. That wasn’t what happened- Danny mostly just acted like one of them, an age in the middle of James and the two younger girls. 

Danny  _ also  _ looked like a younger, even hotter version of Mr. Stoker. Agnes would tap that if it weren’t illegal, because damn. 

Annabelle grimaced. “Yes? I think? Probably not. Uh- we will!”

“Okay, just- make sure you get that done,” Danny said, and then he disappeared back behind the door. Annabelle shrugged when he was gone. 

“I’ll water them sometime, it’s fine. They’re like, succulents.”

The girls worked in silence for some time, cleaning off the counter and refilling what started to run out. Their eyes always glanced to the door to watch for more customers. About five minutes later, setting out new snacks at the cash register, Agnes looked back at Annabelle. 

“Jude’s probably not coming, right?” she asked. 

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Jude? I mean, probably not. She hasn’t exactly been actively engaging with us since the museum.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They worked silently for another few minutes, dancing around each other when needed. Agnes stopped and leaned against the counter. “Okay, but like, why? Why do you think? I- I’m just-” she breathed out heavily- “confused. I thought things… went well?”

Annabelle sighed. “I don’t know, but it’s probably a good thing anyway. I mean, I hesitate to say good riddance, but good riddance?”

Agnes looked to the front of the store, staring at that damn door, and shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re probably right.”

\- - - - -

-10/17-

From behind the desk of the main office, Ms. Rosie smiled at them. “You can go right on in- he’s been expecting you.”

Agnes and Jane exchanged a glance. “I didn’t think that Mr. Banks told Mr. Bouchard about us coming?” Agnes asked. 

Ms. Rosie shrugged. “Well, he knew this morning somehow, so he’s prepared for you. Good luck!”

“Thank you,” Michael said from beside Agnes. 

This advisory was the big day- or one of them. The three of them had volunteered to pitch the gender neutral bathroom idea to their principal. After weeks of planning costs and researching implementation, they were armed with facts to support the idea. All Mr. Bouchard had to do was agree to it- something people rumored he didn’t do often. 

Jane knocked on the door to his office. Her knuckles barely left the wood before Mr. Bouchard opened it, causing her to nearly stumble back. He smiled smugly. “Ah, you’re here.” He stepped back into the room and sat down behind his desk. There were three chairs arranged on the other side of it. “Come in.”

Hesitantly, Agnes stepped first into the office. A sharp ticking came from a large grandfather clock in the corner. The rest of the office was bookshelves and filing cabinets, the desk made of smooth mahogany. It was incredibly well organized, but Agnes couldn’t help but notice the multiple eye motifs placed about. Etched onto one end of the desk, printed on some manila folders, even the design of Mr. Bouchard’s necklace. 

The taxidermied owl on top of one bookshelf made Agnes shiver. 

They sat down in the three chairs, Agnes taking the middle, Jane on her right and Michael on her left. She clutched the binder in her hands. 

‘So,” Mr. Bouchard said, leaning forward and intertwining his hands. “You’ve come to pitch a plan for the Gay-Straight Alliance club.”

Jane sucked in a breath. “I- I’m sorry, sir, we didn’t think you would already know?”

He smiled, but it never seemed to reach his eyes. “I know most things, Jane.”

With every part of her being, Agnes did  _ not  _ like Mr. Bouchard. She didn’t like the way he slicked his hair back with too much gel, the sneering weasel face he had, or the fact that he walked around with so much expensive shit you would never guess him to be the principal of a school. Any student who’d been at Magnus Memorial for a while was aware that he got all his money and funding from the Lukas family. 

Jane, fully perturbed, leaned back in her chair. Agnes brushed off the unsettled feelings in order to carry on.

“We’d like to install gender neutral, single-stall bathrooms here at Magnus,” she said. Mr. Bouchard nodded. 

“I  _ see.  _ I presume you can inform me of why?”

Agnes breathed out through her nose, controlling her frustration. No good could come from getting angry at the principal of their school. His sniveling little rat bastard face really demanded a punch, though. She wished Mr. Banks would’ve headed the pitch- but he said that, as the GSA adviser, it was his responsibility to help them along, not lead them. They’d do the work themselves.

Thankfully, Mr. Banks was stationed in the waiting room of the main office in case they really did need help. Gerry waited with him. 

“Yes, I can,” Agnes said. She flipped open the binder to a few prepared sentences. “We feel that bathrooms with multiple stalls and binary assignments can be uncomfortable and even dangerous for LGBTQ+ students- especially those who are trans. Neutral, single stall bathrooms would provide a much safer and better experience for kids who are at risk for harassment and invalidation.”

Michael sat up straighter in his chair. “I am someone who does not fit in the constructed ‘gender binary.’ I fully agree that gender neutral and single bathrooms would be an ideal addition to our school.”

Mr. Bouchard nodded and smiled again, but not with any form of happiness, with that dreadful smug smile that authority figures so often have. Agnes felt her anger burning, emotions dripping like max, and molded them back to calm.

“We just don’t have the budget for that,” Mr. Bouchard said. Agnes couldn’t help but notice his ears were weighed down by studded earrings clearly of the Gucci logo. She resisted the urge to gag. 

“Actually,” Agnes started, flipping to the budgeting pages of the binder they’d put together, “if we were to convert an already existing bathroom into a few single-users, it would cost just under eight thousand pounds to install.”

Mr. Bouchard raised an eyebrow, and Agnes had to fight down her anger again. The same money from eight pairs of those goddamn earrings would pay for gender inclusive, safe bathrooms for every student. The fucking nerve. 

“We have ideas for fundraisers,” Jane said, and Agnes turned to the related page. She looked at the list. 

“We can do a GSA poetry and performance night next month, online crowdfunding, the coffee shop PanoptiCoffee nearby has agreed to do a fundraising night, and any prize money awarded to Academic Competition members will be saved for the bathrooms.” Agnes flashed the list to Mr. Bouchard, who had a slight frown on his face. 

“I see you’ve thought things through,” he said. He paused for a moment before speaking again. “When would these installations take place, then? We can’t very well renovate in the middle of the school year.”

Agnes sighed. “This would most likely be a project extending to next summer anyway. We can do it then.”

Mr. Bouchard stroked his chin- legitimately stroked it, as if he were scripted to be an obvious villain or characterized in some shitty fanfiction. “You’ve made your point- I need to see more concrete plans, and at least some funds before involving the Board.”

_ Fantastic,  _ Agnes thought.  _ The Board- a committee of old tory men. _

“I am confident in our ability to do so,” Michael said. Agnes nodded. 

“Then we’ll be doing the poetry and performance night in November?” Jude asked. 

Begrudgingly, Mr. Bouchard agreed. As quickly as they could, the three of them left the office. The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed in Agnes’s ears. 

They found Mr. Banks and Gerry in the plastic chairs of the waiting room. The two stood as soon as Agnes came into view. “How’d it go?” Mr. Banks asked eagerly. 

Jane grimaced. “Why is Mr. Bouchard so- so  _ weird _ ? It just… feels like he’s staring into your soul?”

“Imagine having to go to regular meetings with him,” Mr. Banks laughed. 

Agnes handed him the binder. “He said that he needed more in-depth plans and at least some funds before we could have a meeting with the board about it.”

“The Board,” Gerry said, his face twisted in disapproval. “It’d be surprising if we could get  _ their  _ approval.”

Michael smiled at him. “I have no doubt that we will.”

Agnes dearly hoped that Annabelle would come for the board meeting. She would’ve come to pitch the idea today, and no doubt could’ve entirely convinced Mr. Bouchard to approve their plan, but Annabelle had to finish a pre-calc quiz. Agnes wasn’t looking forward to lunch- she knew Annabelle would do nothing but complain about how she wished she could’ve been there to support them. 

Besides, lunch wasn’t the same now that Jude didn’t come. 

“I would’ve gone in with you guys, but it hits a bit- close to home,” Gerry said, mostly looking at Michael when he did. The two would often seem to hold their own conversations amid everyone else’s. 

Gerry glanced at the trans flag on his backpack, which was propped against one of the chairs. Since the second GSA meeting, Agnes knew that Gerry was trans- part of why he did half the planning for the project. Not because the others were unmotivated, but because he seemed especially so. Besides, when asked about all the work he’d done for it, he would usually shrug and say he ‘had help.’ Agnes wasn’t sure that he meant Michael. 

“I’d call this a win, though,” Mr. Banks said. “We haven’t been shot down. I can tell, the GSA is going to make real change at Magnus Memorial.”

\- - - - -

-10/20-

Agnes closed her book, which felt nearly twice heavier than what it should have been, considering that her comments inside averaged out to about two sticky notes per page. Agnes was what many would call an  _ active reader.  _

They’d been reading  _ Night  _ by Elie Wiesel this month in book club. Despite also having to read The _ Crucible  _ for English, she’d finished the novel just over a week after receiving it. Every time she spoke about it, Mr. Blackwood looked at her with a consideration she’d never before seen from a teacher. 

At least, he did on all the other days. This week, though, he didn’t say as much. Mr. Blackwood did what he needed to- no matter what was going on, Agnes knew he was a good teacher. But something was different. 

She slipped  _ Night  _ back into her backpack. The club grew steadily each week, although it still remained small. She shouldered her bag and was about to leave when she heard an unfortunately familiar voice from behind. 

“Hey, Agnes!”

Agnes turned, already knowing what she’d see there. Jack looked at her with an annoyingly optimistic expression. “Jack, I really don’t feel like doing this today,” she said. 

“I just- you didn’t answer my texts this week, I was wondering why.” He held up his phone as if it was proof. 

Agnes hadn’t unblocked his number since the museum trip. She sighed. “My answer hasn’t changed- and it won’t.” She took a deep breath to calm herself down. Every part of her longed to shout at him or deck him in that obnoxious nose, to teach him a fucking lesson like Jude wanted to- but no. She couldn’t do that. If she were to say anything particularly firm to him, the rage would’ve built up further and she’d be given no choice except to act on it. That couldn’t happen. 

“I’m a nice guy, Agnes, why don’t you-”

Mr. Blackwood walked up beside Jack, and he stopped speaking. Their teacher crossed his arms. “Jack, are you- what are you saying to Agnes here?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Ah- nothing, Mr. Blackwood! I’ll just- be out of here,” he said, and then scurried out of the room. Agnes sighed. 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” Mr. Blackwood said, his voice tired. “We can report him to the administration if you’d like.”

Agnes shook her head. “No, it’s okay, but thank you.”

She took a few steps toward the door, but then stopped. She turned around. “Sorry, I- Mr. Blackwood, are you alright?”

He’d been organizing some papers at his desk, and looked up at her when she asked. “Hm?”

“I just- wanted to ask,” she said. “In case something was wrong.”

Mr. Blackwood shook his head. “No, no, I… I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

As just a student, Agnes didn’t want to press any further. “Okay, then- I’ll see you later for British Lit,” she said, giving him a small wave. He returned a goodbye. As she opened the door and stepped out, Agnes nearly walked into someone else. 

“Oh! Sorry, I-” she paused. “Oh. Jude.”

Jude stiffened in front of her. “Agnes.”

She tried to dodge around Agnes and get to the door, but Agnes blocked her path. “Wait, Jude- what’s up with you lately?”

Jude crossed her arms. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Agnes exhaled. “I just- you haven’t been around much. I feel like I haven’t talked to you since the museum- and that was nearly two weeks ago.”

“Not sure,” Jude shrugged, and then tried to sidestep past Agnes. “Are you going to let me through?”

Defeated, Agnes got out of the way. “Yeah. Sure.”

Without saying goodbye, Jude stepped into Mr. Blackwood’s room and closed the door behind her. 

\- - - - -

-10/24-

Annabelle sprawled herself out on Jane’s bed and hung her head off the side. “Fuck, I just- feel like everything is  _ happening  _ next month, you know?”

Agnes nodded from her place on the carpet. “Oh yeah. We’re about to be stressed as shit, bro.”

“I’ve got weed if you want it.”

“I live in an apartment with my mom, Annabelle, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Agnes said. 

“I’ve got seven siblings and I make it work!”

Jane’s voice came from where she was cleaning Concierge’s enclosure- Agnes couldn’t see her, considering that she was laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, but that’s where she last remembered Jane being. “Hey, at least Halloween is happening this month!”

Annabelle snapped her fingers. “Oh my god, you’re right! We’re the Spooky Lesbians, we are legally obligated to be excited about Halloween.”

Agnes snorted. “You’re just excited so you can get drunk and probably fuck some random girl at a trashy house party,” she said. Annabelle scoffed. 

“So what if you’re right? I’m a liberated woman, Agnes.”

“You’re sixteen!” Jane shouted, while leaning down into the cage.

As most did, this Friday study session devolved into the three of them doing random things that were most certainly not studying. Agnes wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

Her eyes scanned Jane’s bookshelf. She stopped at a new arrival, placed on top of the other books on a higher shelf. By now, she could catalogue Jane’s library of horror and suspense by memory, so any new novel was starkly noticeable. 

“Hey, Jane, did’ya get a new book?” Agnes asked. She sat up straight in order to see Jane, who looked back over her shoulder. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, picked it up in Waterstones last weekend- it’s a really good new horror book, just came out. I can lend you it if you want- I already finished it,” Jane said. 

Agnes smiled. “Yeah, of course, thank you!” She picked it up off the shelf. “ _ Thirteen Storeys-  _ by Jonathan Sims? Isn’t that our teacher?”

Jane shook her head. “No, I definitely looked that up to find out, it’s a different Jonathan Sims. I  _ did  _ get regrettably excited about that, though, for a brief moment.”

Taking longer than necessary, Annabelle climbed off of the bed. “So- we  _ are  _ going to Julia’s party, right?” she asked.

Normally, Agnes wasn’t much of a partier, for all the standard introverted reasons. But there was a chance that Jude would be there. Jude, who had barely spoken to her since the museum trip two and a half weeks before. 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Agnes said, flipping through the pages of  _ Thirteen Storeys.  _ She adored the way the pages of a new book feel.

They both turned to Jane. She sighed, and then nodded. “Sure- let’s go.”

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  
  


_ A short essay by Jude Perry _

_ [An essay she has forgotten about] _

_ [Scribbled in the back of a notebook] _

_ [One she wished would never be found] _   
  


I don’t believe in much- I never have. Not God, and definitely not people.

If there was a god, their actions, or rather lack of action, would be nonsensical. With billions of people celebrating your existence over the course of millenia, why would you not show your true face? Words are misconstrued when they’re propheted out through others. If God is real, they’ve exploited people as avatars rather than taking all of the praise. They could be performing countless miracles and filling every person’s heart with love for them- or fear. There isn’t much of a difference, sometimes. At least, that’s what I would probably do. 

Perhaps this is why I am not a god, and shouldn’t be.

Belief has never been my thing, but it was my mother’s. Whether it was the healing power of crystals, astrology, or some other nonsense, she’d wildly careen through different belief systems and religions like shitty wines at a tasting. She only spent four months on Christianity before growing tired of it. 

When I was younger, all this just confused me, but now, I can see why she acted that way. My mother never had much of a skill for thinking for herself. Dedication to belief, no matter how blind, does take a form of philosophical thinking that she could never possess. So she tried on thoughts and opinions like cheap accessories before simply discarding them. 

About five years ago now, I found a deck of tarot cards in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box. Amid the fake pearls and jangling bracelets, there they were- unassuming and distinctly pathetic looking. A little ratty around the edges, bent out of shape and discolored yellow. Most likely from smoke. There were three cards separated from the rest of the deck. 

They were titled  _ The High Priestess, Judgement,  _ and  _ Four of Wands.  _ They meant nothing to me, how could they? I was eleven and knew fuck all about tarot. 

I remember those cards clearly. Three years later, I looked them up- upright, they were fairly pleasant cards. Reverse them, and they sound like my mother. 

Even as young as I was then, I didn’t believe in things like tarot, or anything adjacent to it. My mom never tried the whole Santa thing, but I wouldn’t have trusted a word of it anyway. I still took the cards, though. Childish curiosities are difficult things to ignore. 

I brought them back to my room and found a shitty WikiHow article for how to read them. I’m almost certain that I didn’t do it correctly, but still, I scribbled the words  _ past, present,  _ and  _ future  _ onto a sticky note. 

Taking a deep breath, I drew the three cards.

_ Past-  _ Reversed  _ Ten of Cups.  _

_ Present-  _ An upright  _ Tower. _

_ Future-  _ Reversed  _ The Hierophant. _

I didn’t like a lot of what I drew that day. 

Soon, I heard the door click downstairs and a frightening but familiar voice filled the home. I ran to my parents’ room again and shoved the cards back in the drawer, but of course, I forgot to set out the three cards from earlier. That was my mistake- even then, I’d learned how to leave no trace. I paid for that mistake, though, don’t worry. 

I’d forgotten about the cards for the next four years. The sticky note stayed pressed to the bottom of my desk drawer, and the deck itself wasn’t touched again. 

It was cleaning out my parents’ room, those four years later, that I found the tarot again- exactly how I’d left it. Just another belief my mother fell out of. I’d thrown out most of her stuff, feeling no need to keep it, but I couldn’t get rid of those cards. 

I still have them. They’re stuffed under my mattress. I don’t believe in much, and yet, I am afraid to try them again. 

_ Ten of Cups, Reversed- shattered dreams, broken family, domestic disharmony. _

_ The Tower, Upright- sudden upheaval, broken pride, disaster. _

_ The Hierophant, Reversed- rebellion, subversiveness, new approaches. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, the real jonny sims doesn't exist in this universe, i just thought it would be fun to plug his book that comes out in a few months. preorder Thirteen Storeys loves <33 (jon sims can't be the most uncommon name in this world just pretend that it's Someone Else)  
> thank you for reading, as always!! next chapter will be martin of course! anyway i love and appreciate you all, thanks for reading my scene clusterfuck lmao. the 'essay' isn't the kind of thing i'll put in often, just when i feel it's necessary or adds to the story  
> stay funky and stay fresh, y'all! Yeehaw


	13. 10/18-28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feeling the podcast brainrot vibes today u know. no i will not stop crying about daisy and basira. yes i wrote a gerry fansong. y e s i listened to like seven episodes of wtnv. feelin good feelin gooood  
> also 2/3 of this chapter takes place on martin's couch, oops?

-Martin Blackwood-

-10/18-

There aren’t many things that Martin likes more in the world than tea. 

This isn’t to say tea is his _favorite_ thing; no, Martin would give up tea for long fantasy books, his friends, even cats. He really does love cats. Talking to Jon is another thing Martin would give up tea for in an instant. 

So, one can reason Martin’s excitement for his Wednesday lunch break for two things. One, he hadn’t had tea all morning and would really like some. Two, he had hope that Jon would be there, and they could talk like they did the week before. 

Jon hadn’t been in the teacher’s lounge Monday and Tuesday. That was fine, Martin knew that he and Gerry would often spend their lunches together in his classroom. The two of them hadn’t conversed since Friday night, when Jon acted rather dismissive. Even perhaps the abrasive, Sour Patch self Martin knew from the beginning of the school year. But hopefully things would be different today. 

Martin walked into the break room, thermos in hand. He scoped out the inhabitants immediately- Sasha started on her lunch at the table midway across the room, and gave him a small wave. Martin waved back as he looked at the other tables. 

Helen and Amherst were talking at one, and then- ah. There he was. Jon had his laptop open at the farthest seat from the door, a corner halfway hidden in shadow. He took a break from typing, sipped from his mug, and then began again. Whenever Jon wasn’t talking with someone (usually looking annoyed while doing so), he typed furiously on his computer. 

Martin, with significant hesitation, made his way across the room. He rested his hand on the chair next to Jon’s before the other man noticed him. Jon looked up without moving his head, not making a sound, but Martin took this lack of objection as an approval. He pulled the chair out and sat down. 

Martin’s leg bounced under the table. “So, uh- what are you working on?”

Jon quickly shut his laptop. “Assignments.”

“Right,” Martin said, nodding. Jon didn’t reply. “So… it’s been a little bit. What, uh- what’s going on with you? Read anything interesting?”

Jon took a deep breath and then exhaled. “No. No, not really.”

Sighing, Martin contemplated just how much easier things would be if Jon weren’t so fucking hot. But he decided to have that _face_ and that _skin,_ the young beginnings of long salt and pepper hair that Martin couldn’t help but stare at. 

“I found a documentary this weekend that I, um, I thought you might like! It’s about the coelacanth fish, actually, really fascinating- I wasn’t much of a documentary person-”

“Yes, yes, it’s quite alright, Martin,” Jon said, not meeting his eyes. Martin crossed his arms. 

“I- it really isn’t! Jon, are _you_ alright?”

Jon finally looked up, only to glare at him. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m not a child.”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like one right now,” Martin grumbled under his breath. 

“Are you quite finished?” Jon snapped. 

Martin stood, taking his things, and pushed the chair back in. “Well, if you’re just going to act like that, yes! If you didn’t want me here, you could’ve just- you could’ve just _said_ that.” His heart raced, and as much as he wished to delve deeper and try and help with whatever Jon was feeling, his rudeness felt too much. Jon could sulk on his own. 

He didn’t say reply. Martin, starting to feel like the child himself, stormed away and sat down in a chair at Sasha’s table. 

It was only when removed from the situation that Martin could name the sadness seeping through him. All Martin did on Friday was _help-_ why had Jon regressed? Yes, it had only been a month and a half since they’d met, but the unmistakable attitude of September-Jon was back in full force. 

Sasha looked up from her meal. “Martin!” She paused. “Are you okay? You seem a little… upset.”

“Jon’s being a dick,” he muttered.

There was a pat on his back from Sasha. “Ah, yes, the time has come when he’s inevitably pissed you off. Whatever’s got his sweater vests in a bunch today- well, he’ll probably be fine by tomorrow.”

Martin shrugged. “I’m not… I’m not sure about that, Sasha.”

He startled as something briefly brushed against his shoulder. Head snapping to the side, Martin saw Oliver walking away from him and to the corner- where Jon was sitting. Martin shifted in his seat to keep an eye on them, however much he didn’t have a right to. 

Oliver sat down next to Jon, in the same seat that Martin had been in. Thankfully, Jon seemed at least as disgruntled as when Martin had been talking to him. 

“Oliver,” Jon sighed. The other man smiled at him.

“Is it alright if I join you for lunch?”

Jon nodded, an action he followed through with, despite some hesitation. Taking out his lunch, Oliver began to speak almost immediately. “Did I tell you about how the bathroom pitch went yesterday?” he asked, unwrapping what looked like a sandwich. 

“Ah- no.”

“The three I told you about volunteered to talk to Elias- they work well together as a team, although it’s likely that Agnes did nearly all of the talking. But the plan wasn’t vetoed, and there’s a significant chance we’ll meet with the Board about it,” Oliver said. He took a bite of his sandwich.

Jon nodded. “Right, yes- that’s good, then.”

“I thought you would be interested in that- considering how much you’ve said it would’ve helped you while in school.” Oliver paused. “Would you want to get coffee sometime? Maybe at the new place down the street? I… I miss doing things like that. With you.”

At this point, Martin was fully watching the two of them talk, not worried because they were both turned mostly in the other direction. But when Oliver asked this, Jon turned. He and Martin locked eyes before the latter had the chance to look away. 

Martin quickly turned, stiff against the back of his chair. Was Jon still looking at him? Did he realize that Martin had been staring?”

In the mostly quiet lounge, Martin could still hear their voices from behind him. There was the sound of a chair being pushed on the tile floor. “I- I need a. A cigarette,” Jon stammered out. After another moment, he rushed past Martin, who made an effort not to look at him. Jon opened the door and disappeared, leaving the lounge heavily silent. 

Martin couldn’t help but wonder if he’d missed a part of their conversation. But he didn’t think so. 

Before he could think about what he was doing, Martin stood up, ready to go follow him. But he felt a tug on the sleeve of his jumper. 

“Martin. Don’t,” Sasha said, and her sincerity caused Martin to sit down again and slump in his chair. 

“What was that about? And don’t think I didn’t see you eavesdropping,” she asked. Martin just shrugged. 

“Honestly? I’m really not sure.”

A couple minutes passed before Daisy and Basira entered the lounge, ending up sitting across from him and Sasha. They’d even started talking, but it took Martin far too long to realize, considering how many of his racing thoughts were focused on the interactions he’d both watched and been in with Jon. Oliver probably still sat in the corner behind him, alone with both their lunches and the laptop. Better him than Martin- he didn’t trust himself not to open that laptop and finally see whatever Jon always worked on.

“So Martin, what do you think?” Basira asked. Martin, stirred from a thoughtful trance, blinked a few times.

“Ah- sorry, what?”

Daisy chuckled. “We were talking about how moronic we think our students will be on Halloween. There are always the interesting crop that still trick-or-treat, but likewise, there will be some _very_ worrying parties,” she said. 

“I’m not much of an expert on the topic,” Martin said. “I don’t think I went to anything like that while in high school. Ever, really.” He failed to mention that he’d only experienced two years of teenage high school- he was becoming good friends with their group, but not quite _that_ close yet. He didn’t tell many people of his extended education process. 

“Really?” Daisy asked, leaning forward. She rested her forearms on the table. “I went to too many, really. Probably fucked up my developing brain for life- no regrets.”

Sasha furrowed her eyebrows. “Weren’t you a cop? Not to imply that police officers actually abide by the law themselves, considering the level of police brutality and murders against innocent people they were sworn to protect, _especially_ people of color- anyway, weren’t you guys cops?”

“Indeed we were,” Basira said. “Still not sure how Daisy got in, considering that she spent the days of her youth rather _wild_.”

“Be gay, do crime!” Daisy exclaimed. She brought herself back down. 

“On a related note- are we having a horror movie night for Halloween again this year?” Sasha asked. 

Martin, as often felt the case, was reminded that he entered into this group late. “Again?”

“Last year, they all came over to ‘watch a horror movie,’ but mostly to pussy out halfway through and eat popcorn,” Basira explained. Daisy glared at her. 

“I did not _pussy out-_ ”

“Anyway,” Basira interrupted, “I don’t see why not.”

Sasha smiled. “Great! I’ll make sure to let the others know.” 

Martin started to open his food, a mischievous smile on his face. “So, what is this I hear about _somebody_ getting scared halfway through a horror movie?”

\- - - - -

-10/23-

When sitting down on his sofa, Martin had planned to be productive. Maybe he could even get through grading all the weekend assignments he’d given (for some fucking reason). Or, if those proved to be too draining, even skimming through the next assigned chapter of _The Crucible_ would be helpful enough for his future, quiz-creating self. 

Upon receiving a message to his phone, Martin immediately dropped all of that for much more important information. 

_teacher gang teacher gang teacher gang_

message sent at 7:14 PM

 **TimStoner** : hey guys hey guys i have very important news for all of you

 **TheRealSasha** : ???

 **TimStoner:** oliver got catfished by someone as cthulhu on grindr

 **Section69:** I have… so many questions

 **Knives,Anyone?:** hey sorry what the FUCK

 **TimStoner:** it’s exactly what it sounds like!

 **Knives,Anyone?:** how did this even HAPPEN

 **basirahuss01:** I’m very much confused as to how Oliver began a conversation with this person in the first place. 

**TimStoner:** hey i mean if tentacles do it for ya i won’t be the one to judge

 **TheRealSasha:** Tim, I would really like it if you just shut up right now

 **Section69:** haha nice one tim

 **m.k.blackwood:** and how exactly do you know this, timothy? i find it unlikely he would just tell you

 **TimStoner:** :)

 **m.k.blackwood:** ominous. you scare me

 **TimStoner:** unless you’re looking for eldritch love, i don’t think you need to be scared

 **Knives,Anyone?:** you don’t know him! you don’t know his life!

 **Jon:** Oliver is on Grindr?

 **TimStoner:** ohhhhh why do YOU want to know jonny boy

 **basirahuss01:** I’m trying not to question any of this. 

**Knives,Anyone?:** oh? is that a problem, jonathan?

 **Jon:** I don’t know what you’re trying to say. I’m just curious. 

**TheRealSasha:** Idk seems a little suspicious to me

 **_Section69_ ** _changed chat name to hahaha jon is gay_

 **Jon:** Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain you are also gay.

 **basirahuss01:** At least I hope so, or else we might have a problem here, love. 

**Knives,Anyone?:** ew so many gays in the chat

 **m.k.blackwood:** there is literally not a single straight person here, including you

 **Knives,Anyone?:** so like i’m not wrong

Martin clicked his phone off, put the laptop down on his coffee table, and then practically flung himself into a lying position on the sofa. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and thought. 

Despite it not aligning with the way Oliver acted in real life, perhaps his- online activities- were a sign that he didn’t plan to try and get back together with Jon after all. Or maybe they meant nothing, and Oliver still had every intention of getting Jon. _Getting_ Jon? Is that what Martin thought of him as? Competition? He pushed away that word and that thought, knowing it wasn’t true. 

Jon hadn’t participated in a full conversation with Martin since the Wednesday before, and that barely counted. Sasha noticed and would assure him with a sad smile. Basira definitely noticed as well, but said nothing, and the others seemed entirely ignorant of the whole situation. 

Even though he was becoming better and better friends with the others, something about not being able to talk to Jon made Martin feel significantly more alone. Perhaps it was the fact that Jon started seeping into other areas of his life so much. He’d read the books Jon gave him late into the night, fascinated both by their contents and by what exactly fascinated Jon. Martin would try to find patterns in the books he received- perhaps ones of the same subject or a similar style, but this never worked well. Jon’s taste was random and wonderful.

Martin even started watching documentaries, out of his own volition. Jon would constantly mention ones whenever they talked- _when_ they talked. Back when they talked, Martin reminded himself. Maybe Jon was just busy. The first Quiz Bowl took place the next month, and he had classes to teach. But deep down, Martin knew this couldn’t be it. Jon had made an active choice. 

It confused Martin. God, especially because of Jon’s _eyes._ The few times they did look at each other, something different was in Jon’s eyes, something more layered and complex. For a moment there would be something that Martin didn’t recognize- then quickly they would change, a blockade in front of whatever seemed to be there before. Jon built up walls that Martin didn’t have the strength to tear down.

All this thinking didn’t stop Martin from once again pulling out his phone. He clicked on the right contact and readied himself to start typing, knowing he’d have to edit it five times before even thinking of sending. 

**m.k.blackwood** : hey jon! what’s up? just wondering if you had any more books you’d like to lend me, finished the last one in just a couple days lol

Hm. It did need some editing. He changed the ‘what’s up’ and the ‘lol’ to a less stunted, less classic ‘lmao.’ A couple more pointless word shifts and it was finished. He took a deep breath and hit _send._

A few minutes passed before he received a response, a few dreadful, agonizing minutes that stretched out closer to hours. As soon as Martin heard the notification, he rushed to grab his phone and turn it on. 

**Jon:** No, sorry. 

At least he’d said _something._ That went better than it could have. 

**m.k.blackwood:** that’s alright! i have another poetry volume i just dug up, so let me know if you do

This time, he sent without hesitation, too impatient to weed out every problem with how his tone could be read or if the grammar was off. 

The lapse in care provided Martin with no reward. He didn’t get a text back that night. 

\- - - - -

-10/28-

Martin reached into the cupboard of his tiny kitchen. Since most of his meals consisted of pasta and canned marinara sauce, he could dedicate an entire three-shelf cupboard to tea. Every time he had a guest over- which wasn’t often- and they saw his tea cabinet, they were understandably perplexed. 

However, Tim, who currently sat in the living room, had not yet seen the cupboard. He’d definitely tease Martin for it, though. 

“What tea would you like, Tim?” he called into the room over. 

“What do you have?”

Martin stared at the stacks of tea boxes he had, barely squeezing into the shelves. “Um- chamomile, rooibos, oolong, vanilla, hibiscus, jasmin, peppermint, earl grey, lemon, green-”

He was interrupted by loud laughter. “Okay, shit that’s a lot, just chamomile please,” Tim struggled out between wheezing laughs. Martin huffed, despite knowing that the sheer amount of tea he had indeed _was_ ridiculous, and poured the hot water into tea-bagged mugs. 

With one mug caught between his body and his arm, the other held by his actual hand, Martin managed to grab them both forks for the Chinese takeaway. A couple times now, Tim would come over for eating too much takeaway straight out of the boxes and playing assorted Nintendo games. It turned out to be a far better way to spend Saturday nights than taking lukewarm baths and playing Frank Ocean at a quiet enough volume that his neighbors wouldn’t be pissed. 

Martin walked back into the living room and then sat down on the sofa with Tim. Or rather, if he was being honest, the ratty old two-seater. Although he had a wonderful eye for decorations, Martin just didn’t have the budget to make his flat look particularly nice. Most of the furniture had been recovered from garage sales and charity shops out of sheer lack of budget. He did still make sure to sprinkle plants across the flat, though, and vases of flowers on virtually every surface that would warrant it. Maybe the furniture and the appliances weren’t state-of-the-art, but Martin had done his best to make the place feel like home. 

Tim graciously took a fork and one of the precariously held mugs, setting the latter down on the coffee table. He’d gotten Mario Kart started while Martin was in the kitchen. 

“Could you pass me the lo mein?” Tim asked, struggling to reach across the coffee table. With a chuckle, Martin handed over the white container. Tim immediately started essentially shoving noodles into his mouth. “So, you ready to get your ass kicked in Mario Kart?” A stray noodle hung from between his lips.

“Okay first, that’s not happening,” Martin laughed, “and second, _please_ swallow your- your shit before you talk.”

Tim plastered on that cocky expression of his and took another bite. He didn’t spare a second before talking this time. “ _Apologies,_ my great Queen,” he said, pointedly swallowing when he was finished. 

Martin cringed. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

Tim smiled at him, his lips quirking higher to one side, accentuating the slight crookedness of his jaw. If Martin hadn’t fallen for a sour, tired history teacher, he most certainly would’ve fallen for the charm of that smile. Alas, he was immune. “Yeah, but you still love me,” Tim said. 

“You said it, not me.” Martin took the second controller from the coffee table and made sure it was connected. “You’re going to make me player two in my own household?”

Tim winked. “It’s called being a gracious host, babe.”

Martin clicked through the various different tracks. He selected Rainbow Road, a classic. “Would Sasha approve of you using that language toward me, Timothy?” Pulling in his legs to a cross legged position on the sofa, he leaned forward. 

Tim shrugged. “Hey, I’m not sure if we’re even exclusive yet,” he said. 

They started the race. Martin made a sharp turn, leaning to the left as he did so, hunched over a bit too much for it to be healthy. “So, you- ah _shit-_ what’s up with you two?” Their controllers made distinctive clicking noises in the otherwise silent apartment, as Martin fought furiously to climb in front of Tim on the track.

“We’re in that weird talking stage, you know? She doesn’t want to move too fast, which- _fuck fuck fuck-_ ” he swerved- “I totally respect, yeah, but we’ve been friends for a long time now, and it’s not like we’ve _physically_ held off in the past.”

Martin leaned to the right and his shoulder bumped against Tim’s, not difficult to do on the small sofa. He quickly straightened. “Oh god, I don’t even want to know.”

“What?” Tim asked, sparing a cheeky glance to the side. “You’re not interested in any of my exploits? Conquests?”

Martin finally managed to shift himself in front of Tim on the track, halfway through the second round now. “Kindly fuck off,” he laughed. 

“Well, at least you’re kind about it.”

They spent the rest of that track in intense quiet, with intermittent curses and other stressed exclamations. Neck in neck for most of the time, Martin couldn’t be sure who would win, but he deployed a fateful banana right before the finish line. Tim’s skid did him in. 

“Fuck!’ Tim said, throwing his back against the sofa. He let his head loll on the top of the frame. “How the hell are you so good at this? I’ve lost a round of Mario Kart like, two times, and both times I was almost blackout drunk in uni.”

Martin made a disgruntled noise. “I had a little too much free time for a few years,” he said. 

Tim shook his head. “Nope. I’m calling that a freak incident. We’re going again.”

They played another round, and this time, Martin won even faster.

“The hell, dude? Teach me your ways,” Tim said, frowning at the screen in front of them. 

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Uh, I think you’re my _only_ competition, Tim. That’s a hard no.”

Sighing, Tim reached for his fork. “In that case, food break.”

Looking at him with suspicion, Martin put a hand on the container of lo mein. “I’ll take it if you don’t behave yourself.”

Tim didn’t even answer, he just gave Martin that signature puppy eyes look, and the container was willingly given to him. Martin picked up a box of fried rice and went at it. About two minutes later, he felt a vibration in his pocket. 

For a moment, for a hopeful moment, Martin thought it could be Jon. 

Things had only gotten worse. One word answers and frowns were all Martin received when he dared to start a conversation. He’d been given a couple weeks of bliss, where Jon willingly talked to him- even _enjoyed_ it, it seemed- and then the gift was snatched away from him. The others were wonderful friends, and he knew he should’ve been happy with their love and acceptance, but every failed attempt at communication with Jon resulted in a worse mental state. 

Martin checked his phone. Just a spam email. He swiped it away and put the phone back in his pocket. 

He hadn’t talked about any of this, with _anyone-_ and though he didn’t expect much deep conversation, Martin’s thoughts climbed up his throat. “Hey, Tim?”

At least Tim swallowed before answering this time. “Yeah?”

“Do you think… well, do you think Jon has been acting _different_ lately?”

“Jon?” Tim pursed his lips. “Sometimes his personality seems like one big bad mood, Martin. I mean, he has his good moments- but what exactly are you expecting? We all have off days, his are just… I don’t know. Magnified.”

“More like off _weeks,_ ” Martin grumbled. 

Tim shrugged and took another bite of takeaway. He then leaned over the coffee table and peered into the full mug resting there. “We definitely forgot about the tea.”

Martin glanced at his own mug, most certainly cold by now. “Yep. We did.”

They spent another minute eating, Martin lost in vague thoughts. Tim’s voice grounded him again. “I wouldn’t worry, yeah?”

“Hm?” Martin asked. 

“Jon-” Tim paused, then sighed. “Well. It took Jon a good year and a half, at least, to even be willing to interact with the rest of us teachers. You know, in a non-professional way. What did it take for him to start talking to you, a month?”

Martin rested his chin on his fist. “Well, a day, actually, but he was an asshole.” He sighed. “And now he doesn’t even look at me.”

Tim patted him on the back. “It’s alright, Mart-o, crushes are rough for everyone.”

Martin recoiled. “I- I- _what?_ I said nothing about having a crush on him, I- I don’t have a crush!” he stammered. 

“Okay, sure,” Tim nodded. “I _definitely_ believe you.”

Before Martin could respond, Tim pressed a controller into his hand. “Anyway, what do you say we play a tiebreaker?”

“Tim, I’ve already won two times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! the tim & martin bromance is what i live for, they're my favorite. martin sweetie appreciate your friends they love you so much. it's very late at night and i am soft about these dumb bitches.  
> also, only one more chapter left in october! exciting! i didn't mean for it to happen, but september and october will both be seven chapters long? please don't think i meant it to be that way, i plan a lot but,,, not That well. other months may be longer or shorter i am very much not sure.  
> okay i love you all, every comment is very much appreciated and i would Not have the same motivation i do without them, so seriously thank you. we are very close to 2,000 hits!! y'all make me :)))). with that said, stay funky and stay fresh folks! Yeehaw


	14. 10/31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Before you start reading, I did want to give a quick disclaimer. I honestly haven't mentally been feeling too hot the past couple days, and so this chapter was a bit rough for me to get out, but I did the best for you guys. I really do apologize if the writing itself isn't up to its usual standard- I wanted it to be special because it's the last October chapter, and so I did my best, but I wanted y'all to know. I promise that the next chapter will be its usual quality. Thanks for reading, and I love you all <3

-Martin Blackwood-

-10/31-

“Ah, shit.”

Martin turned his head toward Daisy and Basira’s kitchen, where he’d heard that defeated sigh. Sasha called from the sofa. “You good in there, Jon?”

A moment later, Jon appeared from the kitchen. “I- I burnt the popcorn.”

Laughter erupted from the rest of the room, not particularly from what Jon had done, but from his forlorn voice. Martin watched Jon’s shoulders deflate and remembered exactly why he’d fallen for the man in the first place. 

Martin, an avid horror film viewer, had been excited for this movie night since he’d found out about it. A few hours spent with this group of teachers always proved to be entertaining, probably more so than whatever movie they ended up watching. Every time they laughed together, Martin could call back on it and muster up a smile for the next few days. As long as he could ignore the fact that Jon barely spoke to him.

Daisy sighed. “You know it’s fine, right? I can just make another,” she said.

“Yes, yes, I just got- distracted.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “The ingredient list, it- I found it- it seemed interesting. It was, really, I always- well.”

Basira pushed Daisy off of her from where they sat on the couch. Daisy wasn’t  _ exactly  _ sitting on her lap, but they’d ended up so close together that it didn’t really matter. Martin took the opportunity to grab a pillow from the couch to sit on. He always seemed to end up on the floor. Melanie had aptly labeled him as a ‘floor gay,’ whatever that meant. 

“Fine,” Daisy huffed. “I’ll go teach our disaster how to make microwave popcorn.”

Once they were inside the kitchen, Martin could tell from his tone of voice that Jon said some defensive retort, but couldn’t hear it. The television screen powering on distracted him anyway. Basira pulled up Netflix and searched for  _ horror _ .

Martin hugged his knee closer to his chest as the debate began around him. Tim and Sasha sat together on the other side of the sofa, their shoulders pressed together somehow in both the most discreet and obvious way possible. Melanie and Georgie gave their opinions from the floor as well, cross legged and right at the end of the sofa. 

Martin preferred to place himself in the space between the sofa and armchair. With a pillow, it was properly comfortable, and he could feel involved but not so close to the others as to be overwhelmed. 

Georgie grimaced. “Netflix has some shit horror movies, doesn’t it?”

Nodding, Melanie looked at her, but then back to the screen. Her eyes lit up. “They’ve got  _ Babadook!  _ We have to watch it,” she said excitedly. 

“Why, exactly?” Tim asked. 

“ _ Because,  _ Tim, it’s gay culture.” Melanie folded her arms as if that solidified her argument. Considering the argument, it did. 

Basira shrugged. “I’m alright with that.”

The others agreed, and soon Daisy and Jon were back in the room, each carrying a large bowl of popcorn. They set one down at each end of the coffee table. “What did we decide on?” Daisy asked, scooching into Basira once again. Jon’s eyes scanned the formation of people. Martin’s breath hitched as Jon settled into the armchair- it was the only open spot left. 

Martin, folded up on the floor, knew he wasn’t even remotely close to touching Jon. But they hadn’t been this near to each other in weeks. It meant nothing, Martin knew that, and yet he couldn’t help but long for the friendship they’d only begun to build. 

Basira gestured to the screen, where she’d clicked on the movie a moment before. The remote had  _ play  _ selected. “ _ The Babadook _ .”

Reaching across Tim’s body, Sasha switched the lamp off. The room fell to darkness except for the glow of the screen. Martin settled back against the edge of the armchair. He glanced to where Jon sat on it, whose legs were folded in a spindly mess, one halfway to his chest and the other somehow crossing behind it and resting on the chair’s arm. His small frame pushed back into the cushions, almost enveloping him. 

The movie began. It started more tragically than most other horror films, but established the ‘status quo’- something Martin knew to be important in a story. He did, after all, have an English degree. One doesn’t get through English courses at university without an in-depth knowledge of the elements of a story. 

Martin could feel the suspense and fear rise as the film became more intense, his own body filling with tension as the scenes progressed. Dipping a hand into the bowl of popcorn a few times certainly helped to curb some of that fear. Still, the focus of everyone else in the room was palpable, and Martin himself slipped entirely into the film. 

That was why, when something brushed against his shoulder, Martin let out a yelp. He recoiled as his head snapped to look beside him. 

Jon stared back, eyes wide and reflecting the moving screen in front of them. At some point he’d ended up on the carpet in front of the armchair. They both froze as their arms unwittingly pressed together. 

“Everything alright over there?” Sasha called over. Only then did Martin remember he’d yelped and jumped without any explanation. The words broke him out of his shock.

“I- uh, yeah! All good!” Martin leaned slightly away, but his knee still touched Jon’s. Had they ever been this close before? Even  _ touched _ ? He couldn’t remember, and at that moment, the pathways of his brain experienced a short circuit. 

Jon blinked a few times and looked away. “I- ah, apologies, I-” he moved away from Martin, leaving a deficit of heat against Martin’s body. “That- sorry, I was- focused.” He cleared his throat.

Despite Jon hurrying to get away from him, Martin had to fight down a smile- at least he’d  _ said  _ something. Those were the most words Jon spoke to him at once since the pep rally, even if they were part of an apology. 

Martin nodded. “It’s- it’s fine.”

At some point, the movie had been paused. “Ew, gays in the chat,” Daisy said, and then threw a popcorn kernel at them. It hit Jon squarely on the forehead. 

“And here I thought Elias was the only gay homophobe,” Tim joked. 

Patting his shoulder, Sasha chuckled. “Well, I guess you thought wrong.”

Melanie leaned out in front of the sofa to look at Martin and Jon. “I told you guys  _ The Babadook  _ is gay culture. Bringing homosexual couples together every day, huh?”

Jon frowned. “That is  _ not  _ what’s happening here.”

“Defensive, are you, Jon?” Georgie laughed. 

Martin felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and he attempted to move back into the space between the sofa and armchair in an attempt to hide himself a little. He knew that they were only making fun, but considering his feelings toward Jon and their current tense relationship (he still didn’t know why), their teasing hit close to home. 

Looking to the right, Jon’s cheeks were colored several shades darker. “I- I-  _ no _ , I don’t have much to be defensive  _ about _ , I just-” he trailed off at the end of the sentence, sighing. 

If the ground were to swallow him up right there, Martin wouldn’t have complained. 

Daisy badgered Jon one more time before he stood up in a flash of motion. Martin, surprised, flinched back. He didn’t say anything, just walked into the hallway. A door shut loudly. 

A heavy silence hung in the air of the room, as Martin ran through the past few minutes, trying to pinpoint what had gone so wrong that Jon felt the need to quite literally storm out of the room. The others seemed to be doing the same. 

“The fuck just happened?” Melanie asked, putting Martin’s own thoughts into words. 

Georgie sighed. “Why does he do things like this.”

There was quiet for another moment, Martin waiting for someone else to do something. He surely didn’t plan to himself. Even speaking would be impossible- his mouth felt like it had been glued shut, dry and incapable of producing sound. Daisy pushed herself up off of Basira and peered down at her. “Would you go talk to him?”

Basira raised her eyebrows. “Why does it have to be  _ me _ ?”

“You’re the only one who didn’t try to fuck with him,” Daisy said. She looked out over the arm of the sofa to where Martin had retreated. “And Martin, I guess, but we can’t do that to him.”

Martin gave her a small smile as thanks. A moment later, Basira stood and turned the lamp back on. “Right, well, I hate you all, just so you’re aware.”

Daisy blew her a kiss. “Love you too, babe.”

Basira let out a heavy breath and disappeared around the corner of the hallway. There was a knock, and then a door opening and closing. Martin resisted the urge to lay down on the floor and never stand up again. 

“We should probably wait for them to continue the movie, shouldn’t we,” Tim said, disappointed. Sasha nodded next to him. 

“Now that Basira has left,” she said, “it’s been a while since we’ve heard about your proposal idea, Daisy.”

Daisy furrowed her eyebrows, looking surprised at this question. Then her expression relaxed and she nodded. “Oh, yeah, I- I’m planning to maybe do it at the poetry and performance night the GSA is having next month.” She paused. “But- I might need help from you guys to do it.”

There were footsteps from the hallway, and Martin watched as Jon and Basira stepped back into the living room. Without saying anything, he sat back down into the armchair. Martin shifted slightly away from it. 

Basira went back to her position next to Daisy, exchanging glances with each other as they did so. Mumbling, Basira asked if they were okay to start the movie again. The lamp was turned off and they continued on, but despite the brilliant film, Martin couldn’t stop thinking about what happened.    
  


Martin cooed as he rubbed the dog’s fur. “Aw, who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” he said, his voice rising in pitch with every iteration. In front of him on the bed, Gun rolled over and exposed his belly, little legs kicking in the air. Martin graciously obliged the request. 

On the other side of the room, Basira checked something on her computer. “I don’t like when he’s on the bed, you know.”

Martin froze, and the dog stared at him with disappointed eyes. His hand was nudged in an attempt to get more pets. “Oh, I, ah- sorry! Do you want me to- take him off?” he asked. 

Looking back over her shoulder, Basira chuckled. “No, no I’m just- messing with you. It’s fine, really.”

The smile grew on Martin’s face once again as he dropped down to his knees to pet the dog. Gun seemed to appreciate it. 

Many times after their nights spent together as a group, Martin would stay at the house to clean up (but mostly to hang out with Gun). His vigorous petting or cuddling of the small dog was nothing new in Daisy and Basira’s bedroom. Currently, Daisy and Melanie were still downstairs, leaving Basira to deal with Martin and the dog on her own. Everyone else left already.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Basira asked. She closed the lid of her laptop. 

Martin, without taking his hand off the dog, nodded. “Yeah, of course, Basira.”

She’d turned around to face Martin now, sitting sideways in her chair at the desk. She sighed. “Keep- keep trying to talk to Jon, alright? I think he might- come around soon. I know it’s been weird between you two lately, and I don’t think the others have caught onto it, but- well. Don’t give up, okay?”

Martin’s hand rested unmoving on the dog’s pelt. “I- what? I tried to, I guess, but- I haven’t- um, he seemed  _ worse  _ tonight though,” he said, puzzled. 

Basira pursed her lips. “It’s- well. Don’t give up, like I said, and- that’s all I’ll say.”

Gun, likely annoyed at Martin for being so distracted, jumped off the bed and skittered through the open crack in the door. It left space for Martin to sit down on the end of the bed. “I just- everyone has some advice for how to deal with Jon, and it’s so  _ weird _ ! I mean, is it that obvious that I-” he quickly stopped talking. 

Basira raised an eyebrow. “That you  _ what,  _ Martin?”

“Oh- nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yep. Nothing.”

A few seconds of staredown from Basira, and Martin couldn’t take it anymore. “Fine! Fine. I- I  _ may  _ have some feelings for Jon.”

There was an audible “ _ What?!”  _ from the hallway. Martin got up and poked his head out of the room. He was met with the sight of Daisy and Melanie pressed against the wall, the latter with her hand clamped over her mouth. They froze.

“We, ah- didn’t  _ mean  _ to listen in, really,” Daisy said, grimacing.

Martin sighed. “It’s fine, I guess just  _ everyone  _ will know! That’s just  _ peachy _ , isn’t it?!”

“We won’t say anything to him, I promise you that,” Melanie said. She offered him a small, apologetic smile.

Basira had stepped out of the room and watched all of this with crossed arms. She nodded in agreement at the last statement. 

So fucking exhausted, Martin leaned against the wall and let his head drop against it. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “I really don’t know why, but I’m trusting you guys.”

  
  
  


\- - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-10/31-

Even standing on the pavement outside of the house, Agnes could feel vibrations running through her legs as the bass boomed. Young trick or treaters swerved to the other side of the street as they passed by. Hesitant to go inside, Agnes stood with her friends before the pathway leading to the door. 

She’d never been one to shy away from a part. However, she’d also never been particularly  _ enthusiastic  _ about attending, but she did so to make Annabelle happy. Agnes existed in the middle space between Annabelle and Jane, doing her best to balance out their widely different tendencies. 

Agnes turned to face Annabelle, who had a look of wild excitement on her face. “Annabelle, how are you possibly going to even  _ move  _ in there with that costume?”

“Oh Agnes darling, they will part like the Red Sea for  _ me _ .” Four thin legs protruded from the sides of Annabelle’s costume, each black and covered in fake hair. She’d donned long black gloves and black knee-high socks to keep with the theme. When she’d turned up to Jane’s house, the other two gawked at her, wondering what exactly she was  _ wearing,  _ and Annabelle only responded with “sexy spider.” 

This wasn’t to say that Jane hadn’t worn an equally ridiculous costume. When Agnes walked into her house, she hadn’t been prepared for the colorful fuzzy sight that met her. Jane beamed and explained that she was dressed as worm on string. She even had goggles with stuck on googly eyes, and showed it with adorable excitement. 

Agnes shifted her weight between her feet. “Are we ready to go in?”

“We’ll-” Jane paused. “Um, we’re going to stay together, right?”

“Of course,” Annabelle said. 

They made their way to the door, climbing the few steps to the landing, the music inside getting clearer and clearer. It had the same melody as every other party song, the same beat and bass. They all blend together. Agnes lifted her fist and knocked on the door. Truly, she had no idea how someone inside could even possibly hear her. 

The door swung open. “How  _ lovely  _ to see you three!”

Agnes almost recoiled at the unexpected sight of Nikola. She wore an intricate ringmaster costume, with detailed stitches and a fake smile painted onto her face. Her voice rose and fell in a strange pattern that Agnes always felt sure  _ couldn’t  _ be real. 

She quirked her head to the side at a strange angle, and didn’t move out of the way. Agnes could see people moving and shifting behind her in the yellow light, the music now clear. 

“Oh, uh- nice costume, Nikola,” Agnes said. Nikola smiled wider. 

“Costume?”

Agnes didn’t know to respond to that. She exchanged looks with the others, giving Nikola enough time to finally step out of the way and allow them into the house. They were immediately warmer- the outside was dark and cold in the late October air. 

Immediately, the three of them were packed into the entryway. “Jesus, do this many people even go to our school?” Annabelle asked. 

Agnes looked around at the sheer number of people, standing and dancing shoulder to shoulder in the living room that attached to the entry. “Who’s to say they do?”

Nikola was long gone, she’d disappeared almost the moment the three girls stepped into the house. Jane closed the door behind them, but then leaned against it, looking out into the living room with worried eyes. 

“We’ll stay together, Jane, I promise,” Agnes said, a hand on the other’s shoulder. Jane nodded and stood up straight, sucking in a deep breath. 

Against the far wall of the living room, hidden in some shadow, a figure dressed in all black leaned back with a foot propped up. She gestured to the figure, pointing them out to her friends. “That’s probably Gerry- I didn’t know he was coming. We could go say hi?” she suggested, looking for somewhere to go that wasn’t right in front of the door. 

To general agreement, they wove through the crowd of people in the living room, unable to be recognized in the dim light and costume makeup. Agnes kept her head down, doing her best to move through the mass of people without much collision. Apparently Annabelle had been incorrect- no one ‘parted’ like the ‘Red Sea’ for her sexy spider costume. The sheer spider web pattern dress was maybe a bit much, but Agnes couldn’t deny her allure.

Agnes knew she had the nerdiest costume between the three of them- a rather lackluster version of Azula, the firebender from Avatar. Her mother hadn’t been the happiest about the choice. 

They finally arrived at where Gerry was standing. “Hey, G-” Agnes stopped. The person looked up, and surprisingly, it was Julia, the host of the party.

“Oh, hey guys. Thanks for coming.”

Agnes nodded, still taken aback by Julia- but it was good anyway to greet the host. They had to yell over the music. 

“What are you dressed as?!” Annabelle shouted. It was a valid question, Julia usually wore muted colors and a rugged style, but all black and even a dark beanie were new for her. 

“A shadow,” she said. 

How inventive. Jane pressed in to Agnes’s shoulder, pulling them together like an anchor. “How’d you manage something like this?” Agnes asked. 

“Trevor is out of town for about a week,” she answered. “I didn’t  _ plan  _ for it to be this big,  _ or  _ for any alcohol to be involved, but people are shitty I guess. Don’t break anything, yeah?”

Trevor was Julia’s adopted father. Despite the legal status as guardian, whenever Agnes saw them interact, they did so in a closer manner to friends. Julia, obviously, even called him by his first name. If he were to find out about this ‘gathering,’ though, Agnes was sure that dynamic would change. 

“We definitely won’t,” Jane said. Agnes nodded with her statement- Julia would never think that they  _ would,  _ but Agnes knew she probably said that to everyone and took no offense. Considering the amount of people there, a few were bound to be destructive.

Destructive. The word resonated with Agnes for a moment, and she wasn’t sure why. Then she realized. Had Jude come to this party? She didn’t seem like the partying type, or even the type to  _ know  _ about this, but Agnes couldn’t be sure. 

Julia’s general moodiness caused Agnes to lead the three of them away from her. She tried to squeeze through the crowd again, moving to the kitchen. They knew their way around the home from multiple smaller cast parties for drama. Someone said hi to Agnes, but she couldn’t tell who, and so she stayed silent, looking back every once in a while to make sure that the others were right behind her.

She stepped into the kitchen. About to make a comment to Jane and Annabelle, she turned around- but they weren’t there. Somewhere in the living room, they’d lost each other. 

“Annabelle? Jane!” She called back into the mass of people, but to no avail. At least the kitchen was less crowded. Four or five people milled about on different sides of the room, a couple conversing with each other. Someone she knew was throwing back a glass of some liquid, and then set it down on the counter. Agnes made her way over. 

“Hi, Mike,” she said, leaning against the green marble countertop. 

Agnes wouldn’t call the two of them close friends, but they knew each other well enough after two years of doing drama together. He’d usually get cast as the male lead, gifted with a somber and smooth voice. She barely noticed his scar at this point, branching out from his neck and spreading across his body. Mike always tried to cover it with foundation before a show. 

“Hey Agnes. Interesting party, isn’t it.” He spoke as a statement, not a question. 

“I haven’t been here for long, really- just enough time to get a headache from the music,” she said. There must have been a speaker somewhere in the living room, or maybe the dining room that looked to be desecrated by bits of food and spilled drinks. They’d arrived at about ten, apparently a bit later than most others. Noise complaints could be filed in less than an hour, and Julia was most likely aware of it. 

“I’m assuming that’s why you’re in the kitchen,” Mike said. He cracked open a can of something that was on the counter. Agnes couldn’t pay attention to exactly what. 

“Well, Annabelle and Jane and I were trying to get out of the living room, but I seem to have lost them to the masses.” She turned her head back to the living room again, hoping for the faces of her friends, but instead just saw the packed people. Maybe they had to take a different route. 

The two of them just barely had to talk loudly to hear each other. Something about the kitchen made the music sound more distant, leaving just the bass to reverberate in her bones. “I think I’ll just leave soon,” Mike said. “Personally, I’m not a fan of  _ loud  _ things. I’ll see you for drama, Agnes.”

She said goodbye to him and watched as he disappeared into the dining room, swerving through a few groups of people before going out of sight. 

The noise  _ was  _ becoming a bit much. People shouting at each other, knocking back drinks, dancing to the same dance music as always. She needed to get away from it- now. 

Considering that the clock on the microwave blinked only  _ 10:19,  _ taking a chance on the upstairs might not be the worst idea. It would certainly be quieter, she knew that. Hopefully no couples had already decided to take their intoxicated selves up there. 

She turned a corner out of the kitchen and squeezed along a wall to get to the bottom of the stairs, a place people seemed to ignore. Breathing a sigh of relief, she jogged up the steps. 

Agnes had only been in the upstairs of Julia’s house once, when helping to find a game for the cast party. She didn’t know her way around at all, but it was a welcome shift. Three doors lined the dim hallway. 

She washed herself in the quiet of the air, music from downstairs still loud but not quite so deafening. Perhaps she could find somewhere to sit down in a room- the heat of so many bodies had made her a bit lightheaded. 

The door at the end of the hallway looked the most inviting. She couldn’t know what it would be, but one had to be decided on, and so she walked the short length of the hall. 

Her hand rested on the doorknob. Before turning it, she knocked lightly on the panel, and received no answer. Confident now, she opened the door. 

“Oh- shit!” she exclaimed, and then closed the door so quickly that it rattled in the doorframe. 

Gerry and Michael were apparently at the party, and they’d- found refuge. In the bathroom. She hadn’t really seen anything, considering that all clothes looked to be on, but the situation had still been unexpected. 

“A- Agnes?” A small voice came from the bathroom. Gerry. 

She swallowed. “It- It’s fine! Sorry!”

The doorknob turned, and she watched it open. Gerry’s unusually pink face stared at her. 

Agnes froze, her neural pathways bombarded by the sight before her. The absolute absurdity and wonderful  _ wrongness  _ of what was going on here. She forgot to even breathe for a moment. 

Gerry stood in front of her in blindingly bright colors. He wore a tie dyed shirt with a bright green jacket, a long pink skirt, and even tall platform heeled shoes that faded in a rainbow ombre. She looked away and then back again, making sure she wasn’t just seeing things. He’d even pulled his hair out of his face to show off glittery eyeshadow and a fuschia lipstick. 

Agnes wasn’t sure if anyone had ever seen a color other than black against Gerry’s pale skin. She blinked a few times, getting used to the ambush of color. “Ah- what the fuck?” she blurted out. 

The red on his cheeks only grew. ‘We- we dressed up as each other,” he said sheepishly. Gerry stepped slightly to the side to show Michael, leaning against the wall of the bathroom. Michael somehow looked even more ridiculous- costumed in a tight leather skirt, a black band t-shirt, and fishnet leggings. It seemed that Gerry had even given up his precious platform boots for the night. They only increased Michael’s already gangling height. 

“I see,” she laughed, unable to hold in her reaction to the strangeness before her. Michael’s black lipstick was tinged with fuschia. “You don’t mind if I tell Annabelle and Jane about this, if you don’t see them tonight?”

Michael shrugged. “I have no problem with that.” He looked at Gerry, who met his eyes. “We do not have much to hide.”

Agnes resisted the urge to hug them both, her fondness and hopes for them being together muddling into one intense emotion. She just smiled instead. “I love you guys so much- anyway, I’ll, ah, leave you alone now,” she said, giving them a teasing wink. Gerry stammered for words. 

“I- I, ah, no, it’s-” before he could finish, Agnes closed the door, not wanting to intrude any further than she already had. Right. Perhaps the upstairs was not the place for her tonight. 

She’d mentioned Jane and Annabelle- she knew it would be best to find them again, Jane would get worried quickly at her absence. Hopefully the two of them had managed to stay together. 

Taking a deep breath to fuel her courage, Agnes once again began the descent down the stairs, the descent into the chaos of teenagers and alcohol and the very distinct scent of weed. She didn’t even want to imagine all the cleanup it would take to rid the downstairs bathroom of the acidic, nail polish smell that probably resided there. 

Her foot came in contact with something smooth on the step and her leg slid out from under her in a rapid motion as she tried to grab onto the railing and succeeded, ending up straight on her ass, a bit dazed from the sudden fall. 

Agnes looked at the object she’d slipped on. A notebook. It looked old and ratty, with small tears at the edges and bent papers. No one in the room even glanced at her, the stairs up against the wall. Who would leave a notebook there? It hadn’t been there when she’d gone upstairs. 

No one came to claim it after another moment of sitting there. She again glanced at the people in the room, separated from her by the railing, some weaving through the other bodies and others bobbing to the beat of whatever song played so loudly. Almost all of them clutched the standard red solo cup. 

She opened the notebook, pushing away whatever guilt she felt doing so. A name was written on the inside cover, in smudged blue ink. 

_ Jude _ . 

Fuck. 

The two of them hadn’t spoken a word to each other since they’d collided outside of Mr. Blackwood’s classroom. Sometimes they’d exchange awkward glances in English, or pass each other at lunch, and a few times Agnes  _ did  _ try to say hello, but she was always ignored. Eventually, she just stopped. Annabelle and Jane didn’t seem to mind the loss. But Agnes did. 

Jude didn’t come into PanoptiCoffee anymore. She never leaned against the outside wall of the school building at convenient times, or smiled at Agnes when they passed each other. Agnes tried texting her once, maybe twice, but didn’t receive a response. At that point, she stopped. Didn’t want to embarrass herself any further. 

Despite every shred of common sense shrieking at her (Christ, she hadn’t even gotten a  _ drink  _ yet), Agnes flipped through the notebook. 

Most of the pages were filled with scrawled handwriting. Messy notes filled the margins, with crossed out words and arrows indicating edits in the many paragraphs. She couldn’t read it all, but Agnes saw dates, and names, and titles written at the top of some pages. About halfway into the notebook, the writing stopped. She flipped all the way to the end. 

_ A short essay by Jude Perry _

That piece filled up only two pages, its end defined by that of the notebook itself. God, this was such a bad idea, and an invasion of privacy. No way in hell should she read this, and she knew that. So Agnes read it. 

She sighed at the ending. 

_   
_ _ “Ten of Cups, Reversed- shattered dreams, broken family, domestic disharmony. _

_ The Tower, Upright- sudden upheaval, broken pride, disaster. _

_ The Hierophant, Reversed- rebellion, subversiveness, new approaches.” _

  
  


Who even was Jude?

A shadow fell over Agnes. Quickly, she closed the notebook, and looked up, and- shit. Jude stood, looming over her, a scowl on her face. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Agnes struggled for words. “I- I- I’m sorry, I just- slipped on this. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have-”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Jude interrupted. She grabbed the notebook out of Agnes’s hands. “I forgot it here. I didn’t exactly expect that anyone would fucking  _ read  _ it.”

Shrinking herself smaller, already much lower than Jude from sitting, she bit her bottom lip. “Jude, I’m so sorry, I- that was stupid of me. I just-” she paused, looking for the right words. “It’s good to see you again.”

Jude clutched the notebook to her chest, eyes cold but masking something deeper. “Is that how you thought you’d be able to talk to me again? Combing through a private notebook?”

“No! God no, I just- wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. But I- I  _ have  _ missed you.” She paused. “Being around, I mean.”

Jude raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I thought you’d do pretty well  _ without  _ me.”

A quiet fell between them, noises only from the music and underlying chatter. Their eyes locked. 

“Jude, I don’t- I don’t know what that means.”

Jude laughed- actually laughed. “Oh, how fucking ironic? I’m not oblivious, Agnes. I can take a hint.”

Agnes again stammered for words, sorting through her brain for memories from the start of the month. “I- what  _ hints _ ? I don’t understand. You haven’t spoken to me for weeks, Jude. You’ve outright refused to. Forgive me if I’m confused.”

Jude shook her head. “No, no- I don’t think you get to be. All your little looks, the whispers, and-” she sneered- “ _ Annabelle.  _ I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Jude, I- I wanted you around. I still do.”

“Are you fucking sure about that?” Jude asked, shaking her head. 

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Couldn’t tell,” she mumbled. Even in the cold of Halloween night, Jude only wore a thick tank top. Agnes’s eyes traveled across her toned arms, the short but muscled curvature of her body. She hadn’t worn a costume- of course not. It’s exactly what Agnes would’ve expected, and she had to push down a smile because of it. 

“Please, will you join us for lunch tomorrow? Or sometime this week?” Agnes asked. 

Jude opened and then closed her mouth. She took another moment before responding. “Maybe. Probably. I- sure.”

“Thank you,” Agnes said. And she meant it. 

“I’ll see you later, Agnes,” Jude sighed, and then she left, stuffing the notebook into a bag that rested on her hip. She squeezed into the pack of people, pulsing with the dim blue light of the room. 

She could unpack and overthink that interaction later. For now, though, Agnes knew she needed to find her friends again. 

With great amounts of effort, she fought through the room and back to the kitchen. It didn’t take long for her to discern that a drink would be needed for her to get through this night. She pulled open the tab to some shitty beer on the counter, hoping for something to numb the stabbing volume of the music. 

Venturing back into the living room proved an even greater challenge than it had been before. Even more people had arrived at the house since her brief recess to the upstairs, and significantly more people were hooking up in the corners or dancing on each other- nothing less than what she expected. Finally, standing on her toes, Agnes could see Annabelle and Jane talking to Sergey and Natalie near a wall.

She pushed her way through the crowd and over to them. It was a moment before any of the four noticed her. “Agnes! You finally found us!” Annabelle shouted, pulling her in closer to their group.

“We were worried about you!” Jane said. Agnes had really called it. 

“I have so much to tell you guys.” She gave a small wave to the other two. 

They spent a few minutes ‘dancing,’ drinking their respective beverages and occasionally shouting unintelligible things at each other. That was, until someone yelled  _ loudly  _ from across the room. 

Agnes turned to try and get a look at whatever was happening. She could just barely see that people were moving backward, stepping away from a central point. She tried to get a little closer. 

“You’re a- you’re a fucking  _ freak!”  _ someone shouted. 

Agnes exchanged a look with Annabelle, who had moved closer as well. They both pushed through gaps between a few people to get even closer. The partygoers had ended up forming a circle around three figures, standing across from each other in the misshapen rink. The tension in the room rose.

“Oh,  _ I’m  _ a freak? You lil pervert ass?”

Agnes knew that voice. She craned her neck to see. Jude stood, bouncing on her feet, fists balled at her side. A little more than a meter across from her was Maxwell, a stocky tenth grader Agnes just barely knew. Beside him, but more behind, Jack cowered. She only knew Maxwell because he and Jack were close friends. 

“What- what are you gonna do?” Maxwell asked, his chest puffing out slightly. Someone paused the music, and the previously alive room seemed to stand still. Agnes’s ears had a slight ring in them from the sudden shift. 

“You don’t say shit like that to me.” Jude stepped forward, her voice lowering, reaching almost a growl. Agnes knew exactly what was about to happen. She started fighting through the crowd. 

“What-” Maxwell stepped in closer, leaving Jack standing behind him, “the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Jude’s arm twitched, and then her shoulder reared back, her elbow bent and building force- 

“ _ Stop _ !”

Agnes stepped into the clear circle. She put her hand out, as if it did anything. But Jude  _ did  _ stop. She froze in her position, with Maxwell still flinching. Jude’s chest moved out and in at an alarming rate, her eyes flicking between Agnes and Maxwell. 

“Stop, you- you don’t have to do that,” Agnes said, her voice a bit softer now. She ignored the stares from people standing around. 

“Agnes, I-” Jude was cut off by the sharp sound of a siren. She dropped her arm. “Shit.”

Glancing to the window, a distinctive blue flicker was clear. It reached the inside of the dimly lit room, casting a brief blue light onto their faces.

Someone shouted “ _ Police!”,  _ and then everything was a blur. 

Agnes grabbed Jude’s arm, and then Annabelle’s. “Back door!” she shouted, and then the four of them- including Jane- rushed to the kitchen, not far from them. Most people panicked, but Agnes knew the downstairs well from the cast parties, and they broke into the clearer kitchen. She could hear the front door opening as they fled out the back. Thank god Julia’s yard wasn’t fenced. 

Agnes led the way for them, with an idea of a destination in their mind. Their feet pounded on the pavement as they ran down the silent street, not speaking, their only goal getting away. This time, though, Agnes made sure the others stayed right behind her. The chilled air hit her face briskly as they ran and burned, but she didn’t care. Her first thought when hearing that siren was  _ university.  _

The thought briefly crossed her mind that she’d accidentally dropped her can in the living room, but it was mostly empty at that point anyway. Besides, that wasn’t important then. The only important thing was getting the hell away. 

She jumped onto the grass of the familiar park and stopped, panting. The others came to a halt around her as well. “ _ Shit _ ,” she said, and then, before her brain could think of anything else to do, she started laughing. The other three joined in as well, laughing so hard that tears came to their eyes. Agnes bent down and put her hands on her knees, still trying to catch her breath. 

“Oh, oh my-” Annabelle said between breaths, “oh my  _ god. _ ”

They were silent for another minute, actively decompressing. Eventually, Agnes could stand up straight again. The police lights seemed so far off now, just barely visible at the end of the street. 

“Can I ask-” Agnes started, still letting out an occasional chuckle, “Jude, why the hell were you about to  _ deck  _ Maxwell?”

“Why  _ wouldn’t  _ you?” Annabelle said.

Jude smiled. “Actually, he said some shit about you, Agnes. I wasn’t about to let it slide.”

“Oh,” Agnes said, taken aback. She nodded. “Well. I don’t know about you guys, but I really just want to go home.”

The others agreed, albeit with exhaustion in their voices. Agnes checked her phone- 11:23. Oh, how much could happen in an hour and a half. 

They walked back to their homes, the scent of a party still following them. And as Agnes collapsed onto her bed that night, she thought of Gerry and Michael. She thought of the passage she’d read in that notebook. Mostly, though, she thought about Jude. 

Agnes couldn’t help but notice that she thought about Jude a lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! and yes, there's a reason I left the worm on string costume mostly up to imagination for you guys. please have fun with that in your minds.   
> so anyway, that's the October wrapup! i love that September and October both ended up as seven chapters long, but i genuinely do not know if other months will end up being longer or shorter, so don't expect utmost consistency in that aspect lmao. November should be very exciting though- i have fun things planned :)  
> you're all wonderful, and every comment i get fills my heart with a crazy amount of joy. the things you say make every bit of writing this worth it, and i appreciate all of you for the support, especially on such a big project as this (it's... a really big project).  
> stay funky and stay fresh, y'all. Yeehaw


	15. 11/01-02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started out writing this chapter planning for it to be shorter but. you know. over three thousand words later, i discovered that's not the case! and no i won't edit it down, y'all either get all my shit or none of it them's the rules

-Agnes Montague-

-11/01-

Annabelle plopped into the seat beside Agnes, an action that gave her a profound feeling of déjà vu. She set down her backpack and leaned into the chair. “Why am I always so exhausted before drama practices?”

“Could be that you don’t get enough sleep- ever-  _ or  _ that you were out at a party last night, and I know for a fact you didn’t stop after just the one,” Jane said, leaning forward to see Annabelle across the chair that Agnes sat in. 

Annabelle sent her back a pair of finger guns. “Touché, baby.”

As much as they made fun of Annabelle for it, Agnes felt the fatigue getting to her as well. They may not have stayed out especially late, and Agnes had consumed all of one shitty can of beer, but the party had been more than emotionally tolling. The loud noises, the people, the police, and most of all- Jude. Angry at Agnes one moment, and then defending her the next. She was a puzzle that Agnes never stopped wanting to figure out. 

She wondered if Jude would even show up today, the first drama rehearsal. Agnes had spent her entire day waiting for this moment- watching the clock tick away in every class, counting down the periods until she could be seated in that very auditorium. More than most things, Agnes loved drama club, but the underlying question of if Jude would come certainly contributed. 

Eight more minutes until drama started. 

Amherst was yet to arrive, Agnes noticed. They’d be fine, even if he didn’t- the strange teacher had just  _ not shown up  _ multiple times in the past, and the students usually took charge pretty competently in his absence. Amherst also possessed almost no musical skill. How he’d managed to become the choir teacher and drama director, no one had any idea. 

The door to the auditorium opened. Agnes’s head snapped over, instinctively checking- could it be her? But another woman walked in, someone it took Agnes multiple seconds to even recognize. She carried a notebook in one hand and a canvas bag in the other, setting each down on the edge of the stage. Perhaps only a few of the small groups of students, scattered about the auditorium, even noticed her. Unfortunately, Annabelle did. 

Annabelle swiped at Agnes’s arm. “It’s the Georgie woman- from September- you remember her, yeah?”

Sighing, Agnes nodded. “I do. She looks- cool.”

“How old do you think she is? She looks young, but in that really good skincare routine kind of way- twenty two, maybe? I’m sixteen, that’s not illegal,” Annabelle said in one rushed breath. Agnes knew her tone wasn’t serious, but it still concerned her. 

“It’s illegal if it’s with a teacher or authority figure,” Jane said. Agnes nodded with her statement. 

“ _ Is  _ she my teacher though? Is she employed by the school?”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “God knows Mr. Bouchard wouldn’t give a shit even if she was.”

“Don’t encourage her!” Jane hissed at Agnes. 

Georgie, blissfully unaware of the conversation occurring in the middle of the auditorium, hopped up onto the edge of the stage and pulled out a pen. She started writing something down in the notebook, swinging her legs a little as she did so. Agnes assumed that she couldn’t really begin before Amherst arrived. 

In one swift motion, Annabelle stood, her chair flipping up and making far too loud of a noise. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Agnes grabbed onto her shirt sleeve. “Uh, no you aren’t, dumbass- you’re going to say something and all  _ three  _ of us will get kicked out of drama, I know you can do it,” she said. 

Jane put her hand over her face. “Are we accomplices now? We’re accomplices, aren’t we.”

Pulling her arm out of Agnes’s grasp, Annabelle put on a determined face. “I’ll be-  _ normal.  _ Whatever that means. Just introducing myself, yeah?”

Agnes shook her head and stood as well. “Not by yourself, you aren’t.” With significant hesitation, Jane joined the two of them standing in the row. Just to make sure one last time, Agnes took a survey of the auditorium, searching for choppy black hair and a scowling face. Nothing. 

Annabelle leading the way, the three of them walked down the aisle and up to the stage. With a set of airpods in her ears and her gaze focused on the notebook, Georgie didn’t notice them at first. She then saw them with a surprised start and took out one airpod. “Oh! Uh, hey folks.”

With unshaken confidence, Annabelle held her hand out. The motion made a jangling noise, her many thin bracelets clacking together and with the undertone of rings on fingers hitting each other. “I’m Annabelle.”

Georgie raised an eyebrow, but shook her hand. “Ah- I’m Georgie.”

“Oh, I remember,” Annebelle said smugly. 

“ _ Right _ ,” Agnes interrupted, standing slightly in front of her friend, “I’m Agnes.” She gestured to Jane. “And that’s Jane.”

Georgie glanced down at her notebook. “Jane- you’re our Wednesday, right?” Jane nodded in response. “That’s great- I’m really excited to teach your part. Did- did any of you, ah, watch or listen to the musical?”

Before any of them could answer her question, the door opened just a few meters away from them. Agnes once again checked for a particular person- but instead, it was Ms. King, their Spanish teacher. She stopped once inside and shifted the bag on her shoulder, smiling at Georgie. She took a step closer before even looking at Agnes and her friends. 

“Hey girls, nice to see you,” Ms. King said, giving them a polite nod. Agnes raised a hand in greeting, which Ms. King barely looked at before turning back to Georgie. “Hi, I just- wanted to say good luck. Before you started.”

Georgie thanked her, and when their eyes met, something deeper could easily be seen in their gaze. Agnes exchanged a glance with Annabelle. Between Michael and Gerry, Sims and Mr. Banks, and now these two, Agnes was beginning to feel like the harbinger of gay chemistry. She didn’t mind. 

“I- yeah, I appreciate that,” Georgie smiled at her. She pushed off the stage with her arms and down onto the carpet. 

“ _ We should probably go _ ,” Jane mouthed to the others. They silently agreed, and left the two women, too engrossed in their conversation to even notice. 

When Agnes turned around to leave, she almost stopped walking. Sometime in the last few minutes she’d ruled out the possibility of Jude showing up. It wouldn’t hurt the production too much- one less ensemble member would be vaguely unfortunate, but not a problem. 

And yet, there she was. In the back of the auditorium, her head quirked slightly in one direction. Their eyes met before Agnes had a chance to look away. The three of them kept walking. 

“Looks like you’ve got competition, huh?” Agnes patted Annabelle’s shoulder in fake sympathy. 

Annabelle collapsed down into her seat, arms folded. “You know, it wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ you to be quiet.”

Jane, back in her seat as well, squinted at Georgie and Ms. King next to the stage. “Do either of you recognize Georgie? Mostly her voice,” she asked. 

“No, not really,” Agnes shrugged.

“I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Agnes checked her phone- a little less than three minutes before drama supposedly started, and Amherst was nowhere to be found. She threw a glance over her shoulder. Jude, of course, still sat in the back of the auditorium, tapping her fingers against the armrest of her chair. Agnes stood. “I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

Suddenly, she was beside Jude, with barely a memory of walking there. She leaned on the chair opposite the aisle from Jude in an expression of false nonchalance. 

“You- you, uh, you came. I’m glad.”

Jude shrugged. “I auditioned, didn’t I?”

“I mean, yeah,” Agnes said. “I’m just happy that you- followed through. I wasn’t sure you would.”

They looked at each other in silence for another moment. Agnes drummed her fingers on the edge of the chair she leaned on. “I have a question, I’ve- been wondering.”

Jude bit her bottom lip. “Uh- yeah?”

“What did Maxwell say to you last night? I know it was about me, but I’d… like to know.”

Jude sighed and began to rub her temple. “I’m not entirely certain, myself. Someone brought some sort of shit vodka and had shots poured out into old pill bottles and I can’t remember exactly- anyway. You know how Maxwell and Jack are friends?”

“Yeah?”

“Jack, with zero tolerance in his short little body, started going off about how you should date him. That you’re wrong not to. Maxwell said some worse shit about you in support of him. Neither knew I was close, I guess. So I started yelling at him.”

Agnes paused, considering this. “Just one more thing, then.”

Jude leaned a little toward her, and Agnes took a step closer as well. “Yes?” Jude asked. 

“If the cops hadn’t come, would you have hit him?”

“Absolutely.”

This response shouldn’t have surprised her so much, but Agnes couldn’t help but be taken aback. “Oh- uh, okay, ah- right,” she stammered. “Just- just, so you know, Maxwell did crew last year, so- he might again.”

The door to the auditorium loudly closed, and in walked a tall man with his signature brown coat. Amherst. Torn between Jude and her other two friends, Agnes gestured for Jude to come with her. “He’ll start soon- come with me?”

Already standing, Jude shouldered her bag. “Wait- why?”

“So you can come sit with us!” Agnes led her down the aisle, not giving any more explanation. They sat down, Agnes next to Jane, who looked at her questioningly. Agnes figured she could explain later. 

Apparently, while she’d been talking to Jude, Gerry and Michael had sat down in the row in front of them. Amherst still shuffled papers at the small podium in front of the stage, they had time. 

Agnes tapped Michael’s shoulder. He turned around, along with Gerry, shifting in their seats to face them. “This is Jude,” she said, her voice low in these few moments before Amherst started talking. The two of them introduced themselves, having never formally met before. 

“Gerry, it’s cool that you’re here, but- why?” Agnes asked. 

Gerry, back in his usual goth uniform (although his transformation the night before remained fresh in her mind), glanced at Michael. “I- I wanted to watch, and- well, I was going to wait for Michael anyway.”

If their conversation would’ve continued, it couldn’t, because Amherst started speaking. However, Jude still mouthed silently to Agnes. “Are they- a thing?” she asked, perhaps with the faintest whisper as well. 

Agnes smiled and nodded. 

Amherst started his usual explanations about the coming drama year, his sentences often short and clipped as a result of his neverending skittishness. He and Georgie passed out script books together. Slightly disgusted, Agnes noticed a small stain on the cover of her book from where Amherst touched it. Whenever he was close, she could  _ swear  _ there was small movement in his hair and under his clothes. Like insects. 

She’d never been a fan of Amherst, but Jane got along with him well- she was his obvious favorite. Considering the man in question, Agnes felt perfectly fine  _ not  _ being the favorite. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-11/02-

Martin typed quickly along with the song-  _ pump me boys, let her fly!-  _ feeling the distinct adrenaline rush the fast tempo gave him, the heart rate that shouldn’t be so high when alone in his classroom. Jon’s voice, masquerading as Jonny D’Ville, filled the air of his room with a tangible excitement as he graded the quizzes. Honestly, he knew he’d have to go back through and check these over again- a grading done to Mechs music could never be entirely trusted. 

School days were gradually becoming more and less stressful at the same time. Assignments he gave ramped up in difficulty, and somehow the piles of completed essays and packets became nearly overwhelming, but he could deal with it. His students were more important. The kids loved him, he could tell that by now, and a few even came to his room for advisory sometimes. Usually Agnes, Annabelle, or Jane, maybe Gerry and Michael as well, although Gerry still spent most advisories in Jon’s room. 

Jon. Had Halloween really only been two nights before? The days since, Jon still avoided his gaze most of the time, but didn’t turn away from Martin’s greetings. It was…  _ better.  _ Not fantastic, but the best things had been in a while. Perhaps he’d even put a pen to paper and write some poetry that night. 

Now, after school, was always Martin’s favorite time of day. He’d turn off all the lights in his classroom and let the row of windows illuminate his space with natural sunlight. With almost all the students gone, and other teachers focusing on their own tasks, Martin could play some music and get some speed grading finished. They’d be starting  _ The Scarlet Letter  _ the next week. 

Martin raised his thermos of tea to his lips, expecting the familiar and comforting sensation of warmth. Instead, a noise made him jump, and a small amount of the liquid ended up on his jumper- not in his mouth. He looked to the door. Just barely visible, he could see long and messy hair, a graying temple pictured in the vagueness of his window. 

Hoping the tea spill was less than noticeable, Martin hurried to pause the music playing on his phone, now a narration interlude spoken by the very man he was about to see. He brushed off slightly sweaty palms and opened the door. 

“Jon! I, uh- hi! It’s… good to see you.”

Jon looked at him for a second too long, his eyebrows minisculely pushed together. He didn’t say anything. “...Jon?” Martin asked. 

Jon seemed to shake for a brief moment, pulled out of something deeper. “Yes, right- sorry. I have- something to ask you.”

Stepping out of the way, Martin gestured to him. “Would you like to- to come in, then?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

As Martin turned away to close the door, he exhaled a shaky breath. After weeks of avoiding him, Jon shows up at his door,  _ initiating  _ a conversation? He spoke with his eyes skittering, not quite focused away from Martin- a definite improvement. But he had no idea as to why. 

Unsure of what to do now, Martin walked back to his desk and started idly stacking up paper assignments. He realized too late what his phone showed on the desk. 

Jon peered over the bright screen, wearing what could possibly have been the echo of a smile on his face. “Listening to my music, are you?” he asked, his voice strangely jovial and almost- teasing. Martin didn’t have time to be shocked by this. 

“It’s- it’s not  _ just _ yours,” Martin said. “I quite like the violin parts, you know. Don’t be so quick to assume.”

“Because you listen to two minute long narrative monologues for the violin, of course.” 

Jon paused, and then cleared his throat, breaking their rhythm. Without realizing, Martin had fallen into a casual teasing with Jon, even leaning forward on the desk with his forearms. He quickly stood up straight again and pocketed his phone. 

“There was- something you wanted to ask me about?” Martin asked, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. Oh god, the tea. He resisted the urge to look down and see if it was bad enough to be embarrassing. His own face and voice already betrayed him when around Jon. 

“Ah- yes.” Jon regressed back to his serious tone, his expression set in stoney apathy. “I- actually, this might’ve been a mistake, I- I should go,” he said, shaking his head. 

A panic flared in Martin’s chest. “No!” He took a calming breath. “I mean- no, if you want to, you can- you can ask me.”

Jon’s fingers slipped into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling at a hair elastic Martin could just see wrapped around his wrist. “Right, yes, okay, I- you have an English degree, correct?”

Martin grimaced. “I should hope so, or otherwise I’d be a rather shit English teacher.”

“So, you- um, you would have-  _ experience  _ in, editing and such? Ah- grammar, readability, continuity and flow?” Jon broke away almost all of his eye contact at this point, shifting his weight from side to side constantly. 

Martin leaned on his desk. “Yeah, I’d- I’d say so, I guess,” he said, unsure of where this was leading. 

“I have- a manuscript. Not  _ quite  _ finished, but nearly so- and I don’t have the, well, the  _ budget  _ to hire a copy editor, developmental editor, content editors, at least not  _ all  _ of them.”

“You… want  _ me  _ to be your editor?” 

Jon exhaled, shutting his eyes tightly. “It’s- I can pay you, if you’d like, and you obviously don’t  _ have  _ to, especially because it isn’t your particular genre of interest, I understand this is-”

“Jon,” Martin said, interrupting the other. Jon looked up at him. “Yes, I’d be happy to do that. You don’t- you don’t have to  _ pay  _ me or anything, it’s alright.”

“Really?” Jon asked, in such belief that Martin wanted to hug him. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t. But he wanted to. 

“Yes, of course, when do you want to talk more about it?” Martin couldn’t help his foot from tapping in excitement, all his worries about tea spills and music and cold-shouldering gone. He was going to edit Jonathan Sims’s book. That’s all that mattered. 

Jon scrunched up his face, thinking. Martin wanted to take a picture of it. “Ah- this Saturday is the Quiz Bowl, so uh, are you perhaps free next Saturday?”

Christ, even if Martin wasn’t free, he’d become so. “Yeah, that works for me!” Calm down, Martin. Too eager. “I- well, I look forward to it.”

Jon nodded, the expression that could have been a smile now clearly forming a small one. “Right- okay. I’ll see you then? We’ll- discuss it further later?”

“Yeah, I’ll text you,” Martin said, struggling to contain the excitement within. Jon quickly said goodbye, resting his fingers on the door handle. He turned to look over his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Martin.”

And then he was gone. 

The classroom returned to its previously empty state, with only Martin in it to think and wonder and hope. He still saw the way Oliver looked at Jon, and the way that Jon sometimes looked back. But this could be a step. This could be  _ something.  _ Should Martin dare hope for things with no foundation, no evidence to base his expectations upon?

Martin switched the song, he switched it to something upbeat and happy, something that filled his veins with anything close to the feeling Jon gave him. The rush and the spark, the not quite fluttering but  _ beating  _ of butterflies in his stomach. He cleaned up from the day while dancing around the classroom, hoping the way he knew he shouldn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading folks!! anyway if you're reading this, ur cute and i care you <3  
> i've been doing the chloe ting summer shred thing for a bit and it's Rough as a dancer because rest days don't exist for me lmao, i still have class, but i've been having a genuinely good time with it. i recommend. did make me absolutely exhausted just before writing this chapter so,,, that was Helpful  
> anyway, thank you so much for any and all support! comments are the food of the serotonin lacking brain and i always appreciate them <33\. y'all are the best, so thank you. stay funky and definitely stay fresh. Yeehaw


	16. 11/04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! sorry for the short chapter today, but i've been a little busier than usual this week. i still think it's rather enjoyable, though! jack gets knocked down a peg for being a stupid ass bitch so

-Agnes Montague-

-11/04-

There was silence in the auditorium. Or at least, the closest thing possible to silence when a few dozen people were in the crowd, when the breathing and slight rustles of fabric became the only noises in the tense air. These were the moments that Agnes loved more than anything- the anticipation before the adrenaline, everyone’s collective rush to hit their buzzer. 

Arguably, the district quiz bowl is the most important. If the Magnus Owls were to lose this, they wouldn’t progress to county, region, and much less national level. Agnes was  _ determined  _ to win. 

She sat at the table on the stage, Annabelle to her left, Michael to her right. Thankfully, Jack sat on the other side of Michael. They waited as points from the last question were marked down- at 315 points, they were 5 behind the other team. 

The man giving their questions looked up from his packet. “Toss-up for 10 points- in Jane Austen’s  _ Pride and Prejudice,  _ which important family includes five married daughters?”

Agnes hit her buzzer without hesitation. “The Bennett Family.”

“Correct.”

A pencil scratched on paper, and Agnes shifted in her seat, happy with herself. Answering questions immediately could get rough on unfamiliar turf. Their competition had been assigned to the other team’s auditorium, their name the Millbank Magpies. Agnes thought that Owls had a far more scholarly connotation. 

In the front row of the audience, Sims nodded at Agnes in approval. She fought down a smile- earning a nod from Sims made every question practice worth it. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, staring intently at their team. 

The next question came quickly. “Mount Kosciusko is the tallest mountain in which country?”

Agnes didn’t move. She’d never focused on geography much, and hoped that one of the other three would have an answer. But the first buzz came from the other table. 

“Australia,” said some younger boy on the Magpies, far too proud of himself. Alas, he was correct, and the Owls were once again behind by ten. 

However, the Magpies didn’t get as lucky the next time. Michael moved quickly to hit his buzzer and spell  _ malconformation  _ without as much as skipping a beat. Their teams were surprisingly well matched, neither having ever taken a large lead. 

Annabelle answered the next question, saying “Kelly Clarkson,” which indeed turned out to be correct. Agnes filed that away as a mental note to tease her about later. 

The edge of a smile crept onto Sims’s face, slightly obscured about the long and dark hair that fell in front of it, tinged more than slightly with grey. The smile disappeared as the other team answered a question with relation to demonstrative pronouns, putting them to 340. If Agnes was keeping track correctly in her head, the Owls should’ve been at 355. 

“Give the name of the scientific discipline that studies the origin and development of the uni-”

Barely missing a beat, Jack slammed the buzzer. “Cosmetology!”

Agnes nearly dropped her head onto the table and groaned. Annabelle  _ did  _ actually let out a small groan from next to her. He’d been close, but in the most annoying way possible. 

“That is incorrect,” the man said. “Five points off for interruption. Magpies, your answer?”

An older member of the quiz bowl team, maybe a senior, smiled smugly. “ _ Cosmology. _ ”

Bracing herself, Agnes looked out at the audience. Sims had a frown on his face, as he often did, one that didn’t give away many obvious feelings, but she could translate that expression now. He didn’t like Jack- but they needed him on the team, after a senior from last year left. Agnes shifted in her seat, feeling the annoyance emanating from Annabelle. 

The Magpies gained ten points, the Owls lost five. They were tied. 

“And, for the final question- to break the tie- toss up, 10 points- name the only spider family that does not have poison glands.”

Annabelle hit her buzzer barely a moment after the question was finished, making Agnes almost jump. “The Uloboridae family!”

Points were marked down, and the man looked up from his podium. Every eye of the audience flicked between the two teams, trying to compute the points in their minds, as the Magpies visibly deflated. “That is ten points for the Magnus Owls, who are today’s winners!”

Most of the audience started to politely clap, the family and friends of the winners with more vigor, but a smile stretched over Sims’s face as he stood up in excitement, letting out a loud cheer. He seemed to suddenly regain his usual composure and sat down again. He pursed his lips and restrained excited hands to a golf clap. 

Agnes and Annabelle hugged each other in their seats onstage. “The Magnus Owls will advance to the county quiz bowl,” the man said, his microphone over the sounds of clapping. 

After another few moments, shaking the hands of the other team and exchanging self-satisfied smiles with themselves, Agnes went down the stairs and into the audience. Immediately, Sims leaned forward as if to go in for a hug, but pulled back and held out his hand. She shook it, beaming. The others from the team followed. 

“Good- good job up there,” he said, the edge of his lips twitching up into a smile. “We’ve, ah, we’ve got a lot of work to do before county, but…” he trailed off. His words were close to indifferent, but his eyes told a different story. 

“Thank you, Mr. Sims,” Agnes said. “We obviously couldn’t have done it without you.”

The other three agreed. Sims turned and crossed his arms, looking sternly at Jack. “And Jack, do  _ not  _ interrupt a question unless you are  _ entirely  _ certain of the answer. Do you understand?”

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. Looking down, he nodded. 

Agnes felt a hand lightly tap her shoulder. She turned to see the smiling face of Jane, who threw her arms around Agnes. “You were amazing up there!” she said into Agnes’s shoulder. She turned and did the same to Annabelle, and then even Michael, whose gangly arms wrapped all the way around her. 

All of them separated, standing in a small circle, as Gerry and Nurse Gertrude approached. The older woman stood outside their formation, arms crossed but with a faint smile on her lips. Tentatively, Gerry hugged Sims, who surprisingly reciprocated. Agnes raised her eyebrows and looked at Annabelle. None of them had seen Sims express physical affection like that before, but he locked onto Gerry. They separated and Gerry looked down at him with a fond smile. 

“I’m proud of you, d-” Gerry stopped. “Uh, good job to all of you, really. Nice save on that last question, Annabelle.”

Agnes held in a chuckle, as she usually did looking at the two of them next to each other. Sims was already several inches shorter, but when Gerry wore his platform boots, he absolutely towered over Sims. 

Nurse Gertrude gave Agnes a polite nod. A few times in the past, Agnes would stay after school and help her, mostly for volunteer service hours, but partly because she enjoyed the company of the woman. She was inclined to logic more than anything- a quality that Agnes liked. Gertrude could sniff out any lying or faking student, and remained calm in nearly every situation. Agnes wanted to be like her and worked for it every day. 

Nurse Gertrude stepped closer to Gerry and Sims. “We need to go soon,” she said to Gerry, checking her wristwatch. According to Agnes’s phone, it was about five in the afternoon. Gertrude used her head to indicate Michael’s general direction. 

As a few more people from the audience came to congratulate them, Agnes watched out of the corner of her eye as Michael and Gerry hugged, lingering a moment longer than necessary. She remembered Halloween with fondness- their switched outfits and furious blushing. 

Gerry and Nurse Gertrude left the unfamiliar auditorium, slightly larger than that of Magnus. They had a better sound system, too, but everything looked too  _ nice.  _ Agnes appreciated how worn the seats of her auditorium were and the scuffs that covered more of the stage than not. It felt like home. 

“When is the county quiz bowl, Mr. Sims?” Michael asked. He’d worn something less  _ eye-catching  _ than usual, but it was still levels above what the rest of them would wear, a brightly colored button up shirt with a repeating geometric pattern that almost gave Agnes a headache. 

Sims scrunched up his nose, thinking. “Ah- I believe it’s in…” something near the wall caught his eye, and he trailed off, staring in that direction. Agnes looked over- a dark figure leaned against the wooden wall, checking his phone and then putting it back in his pocket. He looked up at the group of them, and Agnes realized it was Mr. Banks. “I- ah, I need to, go, um,” Sims said, glancing between Mr. Banks and the team. 

Annabelle nodded. “We’ll see you later, then- thank you.” The others said goodbye and watched him hurry over to the other teacher. They started a conversation, one too far away for Agnes to discern any details. It really wasn’t her business anyway. 

She turned back to Annabelle and Jane, as Jack and Michael had already left or gone to their families. Agnes once again mentally thanked James and Danny for covering their PanoptiCoffee shift- that was the best thing about working for a small business, the closeness between employees. 

“So… are we celebrating tonight?” Annabelle asked, with an expression that begged to be complimented with a wink. 

“It’s just the district bowl, Annabelle,” Agnes sighed. 

Annabelle shrugged. “Still sounds like an excuse to get high and watch a shitty Netflix horror movie.”

“I like the second part, not the first,” Jane laughed. Agnes knew she didn’t need to get high from weed- as small of a victory as it was, she still felt high off of their win, and equally as ready to consume a shit ton of snacks. 

“Then let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! as well as being busy, this chapter was shorter because i know it wasn't the most entertaining of them, but i'm really excited for the next chapter. it will be a Very fun time with a healthy dose of true gay panic. also men in skirtssss all u need  
> all of you folks are so wonderful, and i'm very glad to have your support! your comments are, as always, very much appreciated, and definitely help me keep up motivation for this long ass fic. stay funky and- guess what- stay fresh. Yeehaw


	17. 11/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck bitches get money  
> anyway i almost fucked up the posting schedule for this bc i thought it was tuesday today  
> it's not  
> it's wednesday  
> :)

-Martin Blackwood-

-11/11-

As expected of him, the first thing Martin noticed about the coffee shop was the many plants. The shop itself stood at the corner of a street and was lined by large picture windows, one with the word “PanoptiCoffee” written on it. The shop reminded him of a familiar shot from some coming-of-age movie, like he’d been there or read about it before. He knew that to be the hopeless romantic in him- always fantasizing about meeting ‘the one’ across the counter, or catching his eye as he reads at a well-lit table. 

Martin checked the time again. He hadn’t wanted to get there too early, or late for that matter, and settled by walking up and down the block twice so he’d arrive five minutes before the meeting time. Every part of him wanted to overthink even more, wonder if that still seemed too early, but he pushed those thoughts away and stepped inside the coffee shop.

Whatever he’d been expecting, even knowing the place had a ‘spooky’ theme, this wasn’t it. They did the decor tastefully, without any gags like skeletons or big spiders hanging around. The creepiness existed in the intentional cracks and chipped walls, the sprawling briars that wrapped themselves around columns and light fixtures. He noticed bookshelves lining some of the walls, with signs written that said  _ Borrow a book while you’re here! (Please put it back- we are on the honor system and trust our patrons).  _

Martin understood why Jon had suggested this place for them to meet up and talk. He planned to keep things purely professional, as Jon would no doubt want. Just a client and an editor. Nothing more and nothing less.

Even on a Saturday afternoon, the shop only had three or four other people in it, alone and spread out to the edges of the room. He went up to the counter and looked at the menu. There were the normal drinks, coffees and teas and such, but the board of specialty items truly piqued his interest. Nobody stood behind the counter or behind him in line, and so he took as much time as he needed to choose, deciphering each strange drink. (Why was ‘fear’ listed as an ingredient in all of them)?

After a few minutes of standing at the register, hands in his pockets and waiting for anyone to show up, Martin finally worked up some courage. “Um- excuse me?” he called, quietly enough to hopefully not disturb the other patrons, but loudly enough to be heard. 

A door next to some coffee machine flew open, and Martin recognized the bright red hair that flipped around hurriedly. “Ah- so sorry, sir, I hope you weren’t-” she stopped and looked up, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh! Mr. Blackwood- hi!”

Martin smiled, slipping into his teacher persona, not quite an act but still a personality with a degree of falsehood. “Agnes! I- I didn’t know you work here.”

“Yep.” She wiped flour covered hands on her black apron. “Annabelle does too, she’s still in the back room, um, anyway- what can I get for you?”

Agnes leaned against the counter, hands still leaving slightly powdery imprints on the dark surface. Martin resisted the urge to ask her about a weekend assignment he’d given- not while she was working. “I’ll have a- a Void Drink, please,” he said, looking back up at the menu to make sure he’d said the right thing. 

She punched something into the register. “Is that all?”

Martin, about to answer ‘yes,’ glanced at the glass case at the end of the counter. “Actually, could I get a chocolate chip cookie as well?”

“Sure thing,” she said. A moment later, she’d pulled the cookie out of the case with a bit of paper over her hand, and placed it in front of him on the counter. He paid for his things and went to the end of the counter as he watched his own student make coffee. She passed him the cup, and he smiled.

“Thank you! I’ll see you Monday.”

She nodded as he picked up the plate. “See you, Mr. Blackwood.”

After some consideration, Martin ended up at a small table next to a window, staring at the empty chair across from him. The empty chair that would soon be filled by  _ Jon.  _ He leaned over to look at some plants on the windowsill, trying to identify them as he waited.

Was that a small monstera adansonii? He looked closer, counting the five holes on each leaf. There were a couple brown spots on the plant. He pushed his finger on the top of the soil, almost offended by how dry it was. Would it be strange to ask for a cup of water for the poor thing? But then, if they were planning to water it today, he didn’t want the plant to be  _ over _ watered. Consumed by an internal debate of whether or not he should go around and care for every plant in the shop, he jumped from a sound behind him.

Someone cleared their throat. Martin turned and had to refrain from gasping at the sight before him. Jon- but  _ different,  _ more casual, and even fucking prettier than usual. 

Martin looked him up and down, at the soft turtleneck sweater that was tucked inside of a  _ skirt.  _ A long, flowing, pale green skirt. He’d put up his hair in a messy bun, with little bits falling out of it and framing his square glasses, the frizzing edges of that dark brown hair nearly glowing in the window’s sunlight. Martin couldn’t look away. 

“Ah- Martin, it’s- it’s good to see you.”

“Oh,” Martin said, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. A few seconds passed before he remembered that he should respond, and not just bask in the light of the man standing in front of him. “Right, it’s- good to see you too.”

Jon pulled out the chair across from him, setting down a cup of something as he did so. He took off a worn brown satchel and put it next to his seat. Without anything else to do, he drummed his fingers lightly on the edge of the table. 

“Have- have you been here before?” Martin asked, making a modest attempt at conversation. The best he could do with Jon looking like  _ that.  _ He made a mental note to remember the way the sunlight fell on half of his face, making his eye golden. 

“Yes, um- just once. I didn’t run into any of our students that time, though.”

Martin nodded. “It was also- you know-  _ surprising  _ to see them. Agnes is, ah, one of the more pleasant ones, though,” he said. When Jon bit his lip instead of responding, Martin groped for another possible topic. “So, ah- what did you order?”

Jon traced the lid of his drink with his finger. “I- I believe it was called a, ah, Tundra? Essentially just a London Fog with some added spices, but it’s- quite good. Actually.”

“London Fog, how British of you,” Martin laughed. He reached to his plate to rip a small piece off his cookie, but then paused. “Would you- would you like any? Of the, uh, the cookie, I mean.”

“That’s alright,” Jon said, shaking his head. “I’m- really not a fan of most sweets. I do like peanut butter cookies, actually- that’s about it, though.”

Martin subsequently took a bite from his chocolate chip cookie, and then gave Jon a small smile. “Guess I’ll just have to remember that for next time,” he said, not even thinking about the way that could be received. 

They sat in silence for a moment. The sound of a machine whirring from behind the counter and the clacking keyboards of other patrons filled Martin’s ears, placing him in the middle of some lo-fi playlist he’d usually use to write poetry. He stopped composing more words in his mind and left them to drift. 

“Should we, ah, get to the book then?” Jon asked, reaching next to him. He pulled out a notebook and his laptop. 

Martin nodded emphatically, more than ready to finally find out what Jon was writing. As Jon began to speak, he almost zoned out a few times, mesmerized by the cadence of his voice and fingers that kept threading through his salt and peppered hair. Still, he managed to understand most of what Jon said, enough to understand the premise. 

Jon planned this book to be about the romanticization of the Middle Ages in Europe, and the comparison of current fictional media to the reality of life in that period (as Jon specifically put it). He’d finished over half of the work, a topic he claimed to have been fascinated by and passionate about since childhood, when he’d tear through novels about medieval people and places. 

Martin listened to him go on about the subject matter, nodding and making affirmative noises as Jon rambled on for nearly fifteen minutes. By the end of it, he’d landed in the middle of his notebook and had about ten tabs open on his computer. 

“So, ah… what- what do you think?” Jon asked, finally ending a sentence without beginning another. 

“I think it sounds fascinating.” Martin wasn’t lying- he’d never been the biggest fan of nonfiction, but seeing the way that talking about this caused Jon’s eyes to light up, he would give anything to read through it. 

“So you are willing to edit it?”

“Yes, I- yeah! Of course!”

Jon took a sip of his tea, which must’ve been lukewarm at this point. Martin had finished his drink almost five minutes before. “I’m aware you’re not an avid reader of nonfiction. Will that, uh, will that be a problem?”

“I don’t think so,” Martin said. “It sounds interesting, and- well, you’ve…  _ changed  _ my tastes a bit by now. Don’t get me wrong, I still adore fiction and poetry, but there are more- redeeming- qualities to nonfiction than I knew of before, you know?”

“Yes, I- I understand.” Jon looked down at his notebook and, after a moment with his nose scrunched to the side, crossed something out with a pen. Martin slid the sleeve of his coffee cup up and down. 

“Does anyone else know about your book?” Martin asked. 

“Hm? Oh, no- no, I don’t think so. I haven’t even told Oliver.”

Though he was aware he shouldn’t, Martin had a burning desire to ask a certain question. “Is- is that surprising? Are you and Oliver… close?”

Jon sighed. “We’re- good friends. That’s all I’d like to say on the matter.”

“Right, yeah, I- I get that,” Martin said, nodding. “Still, I know your book will be fa- well, really good.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“I mean, you wrote a good portion of Mechs lyrics,” Martin said, thinking back through the albums he’d listened to perhaps dozens of times. “I’d be lying if I said they aren’t well written.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was- it was all a group effort, really, I can’t lay claim to much in  _ particular,  _ but-” he paused. “I… thank you. I- appreciate it.” 

“It’s not-” Martin thought for a moment about his next words- “it’s not weird for you or anything that I’m, I’m a  _ fan _ ? Don’t worry, I didn’t get a teaching job just to meet you or stalk you or something like that,” he laughed nervously. Martin constantly wondered why he couldn’t seem to just shut up. 

Jon shrugged. “No, it’s alright, it can be…  _ nice.  _ Knowing someone who appreciates what we’ve worked on.” A silent tension hung heavy between them for a moment, a third member at the table. “Our next gig- it’ll either be in January or February. Just… so you’re aware.”

Martin sat there for a moment, slightly dumbfounded. Had Jon just invited him to a Mechanisms performance? He could tell, still from some of Jon’s lack of emotion and his skittish gaze, that he wasn’t quite comfortable talking to Martin for whatever reason. But an undeniable warmth spread through Martin at this sentiment. “Thank you, I’ll- remember that.”

Jon cleared his throat, a common transition of his. “Right. We should get back to discussing the book. Work out a schedule between the two of us.”

Taking out a notebook Martin took with him just for this, he nodded. “Yes, uh- good idea.”

They discussed the editing process they would go through, deciding to meet again the next Saturday. Jon would give Martin a few chapters every week for him to copy edit. Once the draft had been entirely finished, Martin would read the entire thing and they’d work together on a second draft, deciding what needed to be added and what needed to be cut. Then the third draft would be editing for complete continuity and readability. Martin knew it would be a lengthy process, but one he was fully willing to go through. 

At a pause in their conversation, Martin looked out the window. Streaks of orange and pink colored the sky as the sun just began to dip beneath the line of buildings. He checked his phone for the first time in what were apparently hours. 

“Oh, wow, it’s starting to get dark out, I- I should probably go,” Martin said. He didn’t say this with any excitement, in fact, quite the opposite was true; he’d have no problem sitting and talking with Jon about this for multiple more hours, as awkward and clumsy as their conversation might be. He didn’t mind. 

Jon glanced out the window and then back to Martin, a surprised look on his face. “Oh- yes, it is. I agree, we’ve done quite enough of this for one day.”

They’d both ordered another drink or two throughout the afternoon, and now evening, in a feeble attempt to justify their hours of loitering. Now Martin picked up a few of those empty coffee cups and threw them away in a trash can nearby. They’d sat through the busiest hour of the day, and now it had slowed down even more, just one couple in the corner reading books from the shelf next to them. 

Martin took his coat off the back of his chair. “So- I’ll, uh, work on checking through those chapters for you! Same time next week?”

Jon shouldered his satchel. “Yes, I will- see you then.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again before next Saturday,” Martin laughed. 

Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets (his skirt had  _ pockets _ ?). “Ah- yes, you’re- right. Well. Same time next week.”

For a moment, they both stood across from each other, and Martin wondered how to say goodbye and then both go to the door. This was a normal interaction, and yet he couldn’t think of how to go about it in a normal way. They stepped toward the door at the same time and nearly bumped together, falling into that awkward side-step dance that happens whenever two people are in each other’s way. Martin fell back and let Jon go first, who nodded appreciatively. 

Martin watched Jon step out of the shop. The door closed behind him, and he walked away, illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. His long skirt rippled behind him in the slight November wind until he turned a corner. Martin sighed, letting out his first breath of relief for hours. 

He couldn’t wait to do this again. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague- 

-11/11-

_ Spooky Lesbians (be gay do crime: the electric boogaloo) _

**me:** Mr. Blackwood and Sims? together at work?? for multiple hours???

**spider bitch:** Imagine, the gays, in OUR workplace

**me:** there is literally not a single straight person working at the shop

**janey:** :( i wish i’d visited today

**janey:** i thought we were shipping Sims and Mr. Banks?

**me:** isn’t shipping your teachers kind of weird?

**me:** and yeah we were but maybe michael is on to something with their compatible star signs

**spider bitch:** That’s the most lesbian thing you could even possibly say

**me:** ;)

**janey:** we could just hope for either? banks and blackwood both would be able to make sims lighten up a little

**spider bitch:** Well hearing that from you, we Know it’s true

**me:** anyway they were cute and i felt honored to serve them coffee

**spider bitch:** Bro i was there

**me:** i’m just letting jane know!!

**janey:** thank you <333 i appreciate it agnes

**me:** also sims was wearing a skirt

**janey:** did you… did you take a picture?

**me:** no?

**spider bitch:** Smh you’re fucking useless

**me:** you were THERE you could’ve done it

**me:** i just have respect and social tact!

**spider bitch:** Pussy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i had a Lot of fun writing this chapter. no thoughts head jon in skirt  
> as always, y'all make all of this writing worth doing!! your comments feed my soul like nothing else and i love you all!!! imagine being as great as you guys are, couldn't be me  
> not much to say today. just stay funky and stay fresh. Yeehaw


	18. 11/15-17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's about eleven at night and i'm writing small rants about the sun consuming the earth. what's poppin i'm back on my bullshit folks and releasing a new chapter for y'all, like usual. enjoy idk

-Martin Blackwood-

-11/15-

Jude had an intense, dark stare that reminded Martin of his high school bullies. She didn’t carry quite the same cruel attitude, and didn’t seem to particularly enjoy viciousness. But still, the similarities were there. Every time they had a meeting, Martin knew he had to overlook that and help the girl he  _ knew  _ was good. A girl filled with potential. Even if she emanated the same hardness as people who’d been unkind to him before, he couldn’t hold that against her. All the bad things Jude did were detriments to herself, not others. Unless you counted a few schoolyard fights and explosive shouting matches. 

Martin tried to calculate this stare as Jude sat across from him, her forearms resting on the grooved wood of the library’s wooden tables. About once every two weeks, they met after school in the library to discuss her writing progress. 

The library was usually quiet. Today, however, the faint voices of four people standing at Leitner’s desk floated over to them. A familiar redhead, two of her friends, and a wonderful eyesore of a sophomore discussed something with the old librarian. Partially distracted, Martin turned his head away from them and back to the papers in front of him. 

“I liked this one. The more thematic elements definitely came out a lot stronger, which was great, but you can’t sacrifice the nuance of symbolism to do that, yeah?” He paused and waited for her to say something. 

Jude sighed. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m- I’m not attacking the piece or anything, your grammar is far improved already and your mix of dialogue and prose was much more balanced- but there are still a lot of things to correct, you know?”

Again, she nodded unenthusiastically. Martin threaded a hand through his curly hair, getting it tangled in the back as if in his jumble of thoughts. “Are you alright today, Jude?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes, I’m  _ fine. _ ”

Not willing to dive further into her despondence, Martin scrolled through the document on his computer that he’d written in relation to Jude. “Well, if it- if it helps anything, I’ve found a few competitions we can start entering after you’ve written a few more pieces. I am, I am  _ aware  _ that’s our goal here.”

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll win any,” she huffed. 

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Well- you won’t with  _ that  _ attitude. You- you have talent! You know that! I- well, I know you’ve implied that you’ll need some help to get to university, and writing scholarships are a way to address that.” He paused for a moment. “I couldn’t have gone without poetry scholarships,” he added on, mumbling a bit. 

She shrugged. “My grades are shit. No good university is going to take me anyway.”

“I- I-” Martin grappled for words, “I don’t appreciate that language, and it’s really not true! You- you are the one with the power to  _ change  _ that, Jude, and with a good application and essay, and high SAT scores, you- well, you would have a fighting chance, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Sure.”

Martin’s next train of thought was interrupted by the metallic sound of the library door closing, jarring even in the unusually loud library. Really, the only source of sound were the four students and Leitner talking, but even that amount of conversation was rare. 

Jon had closed the door, and now he began walking to his regular corner table. As Martin looked at the tweed jacket Jon wore, he found himself missing the remarkably casual look from Saturday. His professionalism in attire did have its own element of charm, but skirts and messy buns in coffee shops were far preferable to Martin.

Martin tried to push those thoughts away.  _ His  _ preference didn’t matter to what made Jon comfortable, and despite his feelings for the history teacher, he had no ownership over Jon’s actions or outfits. He made sure to remind himself of this as he timidly waved a hand at Jon. 

It took a moment for Jon to notice him, but he did wave back, something Martin hadn’t been sure he’d do. The shift in their dynamic since Saturday hadn’t been a large one. On Tuesday, they did have a lunch discussion in the break room for about ten minutes, a conversation Martin had thoroughly enjoyed. Jon wasn’t one for small talk- if he bothered to speak, it was about something he cared about, and this altered the course of their every interaction. 

Jon sat down in his corner and took out his laptop. Martin found himself with a small bit of pride for finally knowing what it was he’d been writing. He turned back to Jude, ready to center himself again to talk to her. 

“Sorry, ah- what were we talking about?” Martin asked. 

“Not much, really.” Something flickered behind Jude’s eyes, but he ignored this. 

Martin flipped through a few papers he had organized in a binder. “Right, well then, I’ll give you a few more prompts to choose from before we meet again in a couple weeks, and-” he looked up to see Jude’s eyes focused somewhere else. “Jude, are you…”

Her head snapped back into place to look at him. “Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.”

Martin glanced over to where she’d been looking. It was the front desk, where Agnes’s arms currently leaned on the counter as she intensely talked to Leitner. “Anyway, here you go.” He passed the couple of papers to Jude. “And you already have my more in depth notes from today,  _ please  _ make sure to read through them and internalize them to the-” he paused again. “Jude? Are you listening to me?”

Her eyes had once again drifted in the direction of the front desk. “Yeah, I got it.”

There was more Martin had wanted to say to her, but he sighed. “Alright, I- I can tell you’ve got some other things on your mind, so I’ll let you go for today. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, and maybe consider coming to book club sometime?” he said, watching as she already hurried to pack up her things. 

“Yeah, see you, Mr. Blackwood,” she said. Quickly, she grabbed her backpack and made her way to the shelf near the front desk, leaning against it. Martin stopped watching when Agnes turned around and acknowledged her. 

Perhaps he would have continued to look at their interaction, but when another person entered the library, he turned his eyes there. He tried to shove down the distinct sinking in his stomach as Oliver walked in. The door made its same racket when closing. Oliver, taller and darker and more handsome than Martin could ever hope to be, sat down next to Jon. 

Martin’s hand hovered over the binder on the table, slowing his process of packing up. He tried to make his staring discreet as they spoke. 

Jon’s body remained rigid at first, in the tight position Martin had come to recognize when he was nervous or stressed. But as Oliver kept talking, Jon relaxed. He fell into a familiar slight slouch and nodded along, opening his mouth sometimes to speak as well. 

Martin watched them fall into a comfortable rhythm. Unable to view any more of this, Martin stuffed his things in his bag and made a beeline to the door. To escape without Jon and Oliver even noticing would be ideal, but he couldn’t know if he’d managed to reach this goal. 

Once outside the library, he leaned against the wall next to the doors and took a breath. He needed to control this. He needed to come to terms with the fact that Jon and Oliver already had something, they already had- or still did have- a relationship to some degree. And that was okay. 

Jon had never made any promises to Martin. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-11/17-

“Cereal- cereal is not a fucking  _ soup,  _ Annabelle, why are you like this- I literally wish I’d never met you,” Agnes laughed, shoving her friend away as she fell on Agnes’s shoulder. 

“It’s a liquid with ingredients in it! That’s a soup, bitch!” Annabelle said, through occasional shaking laughter, pushing Agnes and Jane as they sprawled out over each other on the bed, the last vestiges of full light before sunset falling on them. 

Agnes sat up and put her hands over her ears, a juvenile move at its best. “Soup has to be hot! It’s  _ cereal,  _ it’s not soup!”

“Objectively, it- it might be soup,” Jane piped up, a bit timid, but laughing nonetheless. 

“I hate both of you,” Agnes said, shaking her head. Annabelle patted her back. 

“It’s okay to be wrong sometimes, Agnes.” Sighing, Annabelle fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Wait, what were we doing before?”

Another Friday had managed to roll around, and once again, the three ‘Spooky Lesbians’ were attempting to do homework, in the loosest sense of that sentence. Jane was the only one completing any real assignments, and urged the others to do the same. Somehow, when complaining about mornings, their topic of conversation had derailed to a heated argument about the categorization of cereal as a soup. 

Agnes dug into her backpack, resting next to the bed, and pulled out a book. She handed it to Jane over her shoulder. “I just realized I forgot to give this back to you- it was great, though,” she said, glancing at the cover one more time.  _ Thirteen Storeys,  _ by a Jonathan Sims that just so happened to not be their teacher. 

“Annabelle, do you want to read it as well?” Jane asked. Annabelle shrugged, but took the book anyway. 

“Yeah, sure, may as well.” She slid it into her own bag as well. “So, Jane-” she started, drumming her hands lightly on her thighs, “can I see my little girl today?”

Jane’s eyes brightened and she immediately walked over to the cage against her wall. She opened the lid and reached, slowly and gently into the interior, carefully picking up the creature inside. The stick insect stayed on her palm as she sat back down on the bed, between Agnes and Annabelle. 

“Hello there, miss Concierge,” Agnes said, trailing a light finger on the back of the insect. It moved slowly and gradually positioned its legs at Jane’s wrist. 

“We really should do homework, though,” Jane said, tilting her arm slightly to let the insect stay on the top side of her wrist. “We have to take any chance we have to do our school stuff.

“Yeah, I know,” Annabelle sighed. “Between classes, drama, work, quiz bowl,  _ and  _ the poetry and performance night next week, I’m fucking  _ beat _ .”

Jane passed Concierge to Agnes, who let her crawl as she spoke. “Well, another month and a half to winter break. We’ll be fine, we always are, you know,” she said. Jane grimaced.

“Is that really a healthy mindset to have?” she asked.

“I mean, probably not.”

They sat for a moment in comfortable, thoughtful silence. Agnes avoided the stressed voices that tried to call out to her from the back of her mind. She could deal with all of that later- not now, now when she had so much going on, and not when so many things depended on her.

Annabelle seemed to be having similar thoughts. “At least Leitner seems mostly willing to work with the GSA on the poetry and performance night,” she said, speaking with more of a rhetorical tone than one meant to be met with an answer. 

Agnes answered her anyway. “He didn’t outright dismiss us in the library the other day, which is… honestly better than I thought things would go. Michael also has an element of natural persuasiveness.”

“Uh, and  _ me! _ ” Annabelle scoffed. “I pulled us through that shit like a master of ethos, pathos,  _ and  _ logos.”

Agnes passed Concierge back to Jane, who in turn gave the bug to Annabelle. Jane, free of the insect now, brushed her hands on her pants. “And Jude showed up a bit later- she definitely gives us the element of intimidation,” she said. 

Agnes bit her lip, going back through the memories of Wednesday. She and Jude had been starting to talk more at drama rehearsals. Usually, they wouldn’t say a word to each other in any classes they shared, or even acknowledge each other in the hallways. Jude only spent fleeting amounts of time at their lunch table. But when the two of them sat next to each other at drama, their words came freely. 

For a long time, Agnes had mistaken the burn in her chest when seeing Jude as natural curiosity. An urge to get closer to this strange person, and understand what made Jude Perry  _ herself.  _ She tried to mold those bright emotions into something logical and controllable. 

She knew better now, though. These weren’t like her other feelings. She couldn’t convince herself not to feel them, or that her anger was really determination, or that her sadness could be replaced with something else. 

That fire- it was the bright glow of  _ feelings.  _ Not the normal feelings that Agnes felt, but having feelings  _ for  _ Jude. The realization made everything make sense. And now, whenever Agnes looked at Jude, the flame only grew stronger, threatening to burn her from the inside. And how she loved that. Relished it, really. 

Jude made her feel like danger and fire and an addictive destruction. One that threatened to explode on Agnes herself. She was prepared to be ruined, to be lit aflame as if soaked in gasoline, perhaps even  _ eager  _ for it. She stoked and fed these flames like a multitude of candles in a bedroom. Waiting, waiting, waiting to be knocked over. 

Agnes brought herself back to their conversation. Jane and Annabelle had kept talking, clueless of Agnes’s inner reflections. 

“-kind of weird, right?” Annabelle finished. 

Agnes looked between the two of them. “Uh- what’s weird?”

“Oh, we were just talking about how Jude has been acting,” Jane said. “I mean, I’m fine with how she wants to be friends and all- I don’t mind having her around- but it’s just… unexpected.”

“I think we should welcome her,” Agnes said with a shrug. 

Annabelle shook her head. “You don’t- you don’t mean, like, into our  _ group,  _ right? I’m chill with talking to her sometimes or whatever, but I don’t think I’m ready for another spooky lesbian just yet.”

Agnes partially rolled her eyes at the ridiculous group name, although she’d begun to grow fond of it. “What if we had a group chat with her or something like that?” Annabelle already looked eager to respond, and Agnes shut it down quickly. “And  _ no,  _ it wouldn’t be a ‘Spooky Lesbians’ group chat, just- a separate one with the three of us. And her. So we can try out the dynamic.”

Annabelle crossed her arms. “I mean- yeah, sure, I don’t… have anything against that,” she said, leaning over to fall against Agnes’s side. Agnes wrapped an arm around the other’s shoulder as she continued. “We’ll try it out.”

Agnes glanced to the other side of her at Jane. “Janey, you all right with it?”

Jane had no qualms, and Agnes made a mental note to remember to mention this to Jude at their next rehearsal. She couldn't deny a small amount of excitement at this idea. 

Two hours later, Agnes let her shoulder rest against the door of her flat. Well, her and her mother’s flat. After the fire, they only had money to move into a one bedroom place, the upstairs half of a small house. She didn’t mind the flat, though. It was often cramped, but they managed to make the place feel like home. For the most part. 

As tired as she was, Agnes managed to push herself back to standing straight and knocked on the door. When in the bedroom, her mother often couldn’t hear the door, and so Agnes assumed this was the situation after she received no answer. She instead pulled a key out of the front pocket of her backpack and unlocked the door. 

The living room was dark, connected to an equally shadowed kitchen. Dim light showed under the door to their bedroom. Agnes set her bag down next to the couch and considered flipping on the light switch, but instead just went to their room.

Opening the door to the bedroom always managed to ambush Agnes, in a sense. If she kept her eyes to her side, she’d be fine. However, her mother’s side of the room was nothing less than stressful. A chronically unmade bed, clothes and trash on the floor, haphazardly drawn blinds, and a nearly burnt out lamp that somehow lost its shade. Agnes sighed at the mess of a mother that laid sprawled out on the bed.

“Mom, I’m- I’m home,” she said. Her mother lifted her head and gave Agnes a weak smile. 

“Did you, uh, have a good day at school?” she asked with sleep-slurred words. She slowly sat up in her bed and rubbed her head. “Jesus, this headache- what time is it?”

Agnes glanced at the clock on her own nightstand. “Seven thirty- how long have you been sleeping? Did you have work today?”

Groggily, her mom shook her head. “No, no, it was- it was my day off, I think. I’m pretty sure.” She paused for a moment. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

Agnes sat down on her own bed, looking up and down at her mother.

She knew this to be her fault. Her mother, Eileen Montague, was an efficient person three years earlier, working while caring for her husband and daughter just as well. But with the death of her father, her mother crumbled, leaving Agnes to pick up the pieces of a mess she’d caused anyway. And meanwhile, Agnes was… fine. A little numb at first, with a hint of sadness, more because of the changes in her life than the death of her father. 

Agnes shouldn’t have been okay. But she was, and thank god for it. 

“I thought yesterday was your day off.”

Her mother reached across her bed and unplugged her phone from the charger, blinking at its brightly lit screen. She swiped at something. “Shit, you’re right.”

“I thought your manager said you only had two strikes left after last time?” Agnes asked. It really was only a matter of time before her mother was fired. 

“Guess I’ll still have one more,” her mom shrugged. 

Agnes stood and walked to the door. “I’m gonna make dinner. Come to the kitchen if you want some.” She closed the door gently and heard her mother lay back down, unlikely to get up again for the rest of the evening. Agnes would make dinner, enough for two people, and inevitably pack up the other half in tupperware with a note on it. The next day, it would still be in the fridge, and Agnes would eat the leftovers herself, wondering what her mother even ate that day. 

She’d done this before. 

Leaning against the door to their bedroom, looking out into the dark flat, Agnes thought of a light- a burning flame, a message of hope and destruction simultaneously. What was fire, if not for the savior and downfall of humanity? They were born of the flame as a species, using it to survive. And someday, the sun will consume all of us. It will envelop the Earth as if it had never existed. 

Agnes thought about fire. And she thought about Jude. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading!!  
> ahhh okay so i have other news too and i'm too excited to hold it in which is that i'm getting a binder soon!! we ordered it today!!! i'm so fucking excited i can't believe this, things have been going really well since i've come out as nonbinary and i just :))))) i'm getting a binder i'm getting a binder
> 
> also @ jonny sims i am giving your book free promo, i am literally your living advertisement and i live to serve
> 
> anyway, thank you all so much for your support!!! almost 3,000 hist!!! speaking of support, all of your comments are my serotonin boosts and biggest motivations, so a sincere shoutout to everyone who comments on this fic- you guys are making it happen.   
> stay funky and, in a twist none of us could see coming, stay fresh. Yeehaw


	19. 11/19-23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha jon short, gay houseplant culture go brr  
> back with my second 'scene clusterfuck' it's exactly what it sounds like and holy hell was it fun to write :)

-Agnes Montague-

-11/20-

PanoptiCoffee, during its busiest hours, looked like something of a community center. The decorations, and even the cozy atmosphere despite them, made the shop a place to meet and gather. People would have long conversations over sugary drinks, or pick out a random book from the shelf and read until closing hours. The one room would buzz with life and the slight hum of flowing string lights above their heads. 

During some of their breaks, however, Agnes and Annabelle would leave this welcoming environment and move to another- one that carried a different energy with it, but not a bad one. There were energies of quiet and peace, with the soft clinking of stones and a small fountain in a corner. The fountain constantly jammed and even overflowed, but the upkeep was worth it. There were energies of healing. Energies that calmed you after a long and busy day. 

Good Energies, you could maybe say. 

Agnes closed the door of the crystal shop behind her. It caused the sound of a bell to reverberate through the whole store, a disturbance in the still air. The ring bounced off of glass doors that protected cluttered shelves. 

Arms crossed, Annabelle glanced around the empty store. “Jane?” she called. 

A moment later, the other girl appeared around the corner, her long black hair out of its usual braid. Jane couldn’t relax in most places, but she could here. Agnes and Annabelle loved her- and part of that love was knowing that Jane needed them, needed to be part of something, and just as much needed that to be something she could blend into. Agnes and Annabelle provided this for her. They were always willing to shield Jane and keep her safe between them, even if they’d never spoken about it. 

At Good Energies, though, they didn’t need to do all of this for Jane. The store fit her and she fit the store. 

“I didn’t know you guys were coming today!” Jane said, smiling. She took a step closer to them before being distracted by something else on a shelf and leaned down to look at it. After moving some crystal to a different place, she straightened back up. “Sorry. People keep putting the bismuth in the wrong spot, for some reason. Did you- uh-” she gestured to the cups Agnes held in her hands. 

Agnes gave Jane one of the drinks. “Your usual- the Agape.” Jane took it graciously and sipped from the warm cup, smiling after. 

“Oh my  _ god,  _ you’re the best.” She crossed the room and went behind the counter, jotting something quickly down on a piece of paper and then looking up again. “Gonna buy anything today?”

Annabelle snorted. “They’re pretty and all, but I can’t say I believe in the ‘healing power of crystals’ or whatever.” 

Agnes shrugged at this.  “I don’t either, but like, they  _ are  _ pretty.” She reached out to run her finger across a jagged, raw amethyst. From that touch, she could understand the mystical appeal of them- there’s a certain feeling one gets from the rough edges of a crystal, nearly indescribable. “And I’m also broke,” she conceded. 

Jane leaned her forearms on the counter in front of her. “I do get that, but also, what did you possibly do with your last paycheck?” she asked. 

“University,” Annabelle answered.

Agnes’s quickly given answer overlapped with Annabelle’s. “Saved it.” They looked at each other, acknowledging their shared struggle of financial burden. With Annabelle’s seven siblings and Agnes’s life situation, neither could afford to spend their meager salaries on crystals. 

“We get you free drinks, you couldn’t, you know, slide us a crystal under the table?” Annabelle asked jokingly. 

Jane raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in crystals.”

“Well, now there’s crime involved,” Agnes laughed. “Of course she’d want that. And really, crystals  _ are  _ kind of gay culture.”

The bell rang from behind them, signalling someone’s entrance into the shop, and Agnes stepped aside before looking to see who it was. To her surprise, it was- her teacher. Gym teacher, to be specific. 

“Mr. Stoker! I- um, good to see you,” Jane said, stiff. 

Mr. Stoker looked between the three of them. Agnes couldn’t begin to guess what he was feeling, walking straight into a shop with multiple of his students. 

Stoker, being himself, seemed to shrug it off almost immediately. “Oh, hey guys!” He turned to Jane. “Oh wow, you work here?”

Jane nodded, shrinking a little further into herself. “Uh. Yeah. Can I- can I help you find something?”

In the corner of the store now, Agnes and Annabelle exchanged a glance. Annabelle made a gesture to the door and Agnes shrugged, but neither moved. “Yeah, actually,” Stoker said, leaning his shoulder against a shelf. It moved slightly and he bolted up straight, then looked down to the floor for a moment. Agnes stifled a laugh. “It’s about to be my little brother’s birthday, and I know he’s into crystals and things like that, you know. Just another one of Danny’s interests. Watch, it’ll be urban exploration or something next,” he joked. 

Annabelle took a sip of her coffee, swallowed, and turned to Stoker. “We work with a Danny, actually, but his last name is- oh.” She glanced at Agnes. “How did we not put that together before? They- they look almost exactly the same, I’m…”

Agnes wisely decided not to mention that they  _ almost  _ looked the same, but Danny was hotter. Which is an achievement, considering how attractive Mr. Stoker is. As a student, Agnes knew that seemed a bit of a weird thought, but really that observation was purely objective. She had eyes and used them. 

With furrowed brows, Stoker gestured between the two of them. “Do you both work at, uh, PanoptiCoffee, right?”

Agnes nodded. “Do we have your permission to make fun of Danny for being in a crystal phase?”

“ _ Absolutely, _ ” Stoker laughed. “The GSA still wants me to MC for your fundraiser, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Annabelle said. She took out her phone and clicked it on, then made a face at Agnes. “We need to get back, our shift is about to start and Danny won’t like us being late.” 

They waved their goodbyes at Jane, who already started to help Mr. Stoker around the store, explaining certain crystals to him (he looked utterly confused). Jane also had an expression of slight fear, but really, so does anyone interacting with a teacher in an environment where they didn’t expect it. Agnes and Annabelle left the store, very much ready to harass Danny endlessly. 

\- - - - -

-11/22-

_ be lesbian do uwu _

**spider bitch:** OwO what’s this

**me:** annabelle don’t fucking act like you didn’t name this group chat

**spider bitch:** Uwu?

**janey:** is this the new group chat with jude

**perryromaniac:** well, i’m assuming so. 

**me:** she has arrived!

**spider bitch:** Your name is quite something

**perryromaniac:** i’m going to say thank you for that.

**spider bitch:** Sorry but you can’t be in the Spooky Lesbians gc yet

**perryromaniac:** is every group chat lesbian themed?

**me:** yes

**janey:** yes

**spider bitch:** Yes

**perryromaniac:** alright, i like that.

**spider bitch:** Oh my god are you gay??? Ew

**perryromaniac:** i’m confused now. understandably.

**janey:** please don’t pay attention to her

**me:** she’s gay but has the audacity to be homophobic 

**spider bitch:** It’s a SIN, Agnes!!!!!!!! I am a good, bible-quoting Jesus-loving pure woman!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**me:** i literally cannot stand you

**perryromaniac:** well i do love to sin, then.

**me:** how scandalous, jude

**janey:** you all make me so distressed

**me:** well Anyway, welcome to the club, jude

**spider bitch:** But not the Spooky Lesbian club

**me:** yes yes not the spooky lesbian club we know annabelle

**perryromaniac:** no, i get it. 

**spider bitch:** Why do you type like that like. For what

**janey:** don’t be mean :(

**perryromaniac:** and you capitalize your fucking sentences, what’s your problem?

**spider bitch:** You just sound angry in all of your messages

**perryromaniac:** what if i am?

**me:** right right so this is going incredibly well

**janey:** very much so! we are vibing! how worm!

**me:** oh worm indeed

**perryromaniac:** worm?

**spider bitch:** Worm!

**perryromaniac:** hm. worm.

\- - - - -

-11/23-

Agnes uncapped her highlighter and dragged it across a line in her script, bright yellow and glaringly obvious now. Every script she’d been given for drama had all her dialogue highlighted against the off white pages, words underlined for emphasis, and countless small notes scribbled in the margins. Sometimes she would go back to her others and look through them. She’d notice all the small details she one perfected, she’d live again through those moments onstage. 

Her fingers rubbed the worn edge of the script. Her other hand was splayed on the stage, cool and roughened under her fingertips. She brushed a tape marking that had started to peel up. 

Their knees touching, Annabelle sat beside her on the stage, relaxing in their five minute break. Jane paced in front of them, also scribbling in her script. Agnes couldn’t possibly know what- Amherst certainly didn’t give them enough corrections. He shifted around nervously in the front row of the auditorium, flipping through a show binder. 

Unlike Amherst, Georgie was quite helpful, though. She didn’t come for every rehearsal, only scheduled choreo lessons or reviews. She and Ms. King were conversing in the hallway at that moment. 

Amid the sound of the other cast members, the life and essence of a show being built around them, Agnes’s brain was preoccupied by one thing- Jude, sitting a few feet away from her. The other girl had her back against the side of the stage, one leg bent and the other stretched out. Agnes glanced over to look at her more than she’d care to admit. 

Finally finished with her pacing, Jane dropped to the ground and scooted closer to her friends. “Why does every show have to be so heteronormative? The greatest test of my acting will be kissing a boy and pretending I enjoy it,” she huffed. 

Annabelle looked up from her script and lifted an eyebrow. “Jane? Getting angry about something?” she asked. “That’s not common.”

“I’m not  _ angry,  _ just-” she pulled her knees to her chest- “slightly annoyed.”

Agnes nodded. “Valid, me too. Although I’m mostly annoyed by Leitner at the moment. Remember how I was stopping by the library before rehearsal to make some final decisions about the fundraiser tomorrow?”

“Yeah?” Jane asked, quirking her head. 

“He was just- so difficult! I mean, he always is, but his homophobe vibes are  _ very  _ strong and I’m not sure he’s exactly enthusiastic about a bunch of queer kids doing a poetry and performance night in his library. I made sure he won’t actually be there tomorrow night, though, so that’s fine at least.”

Annabelle leaned over and softly punched her shoulder a few times, perhaps even making some  _ ra ta ta  _ noises under breath. She looked up at Agnes. “Hey hey hey are you gonna sing tomorrow night? Are you gonna sing? You should sing, you know.”

Agnes laughed and pushed her off. “I’m going to be busy making sure it’s running smoothly. Mr. Banks is dealing with everything technical, so as you guys now, I’ll be leading the actual sequence of the night.”

Annabelle pouted. 

“Okay, fine,  _ maybe,  _ but only if you guys sing with me.”

Jane grimaced. “One of our trios? I didn’t think they’ve always been… the best, really. But I’m willing to try!” By the end of her sentence, her expression shifted into a smile.

Annabelle leaned out of their little circle, her elbow resting on the stage. “Yo Perry!”

Surprised, Jude’s head snapped up from her phone. “Yes?”

“You showing up to the GSA fundraiser tomorrow night?” Annabelle asked. Agnes and Jane exchanged a look, surprised at this interaction.

Jude shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly  _ planning  _ to, but I can.”

Suddenly, the idea of singing in a trio seemed like a very bad one. 

“Great!” Annabelle smiled. “I’m sure you’ll look forward to  _ our  _ performance then, I’d say we all have quite a bit of-” she glanced back to Agnes, before turning to Jude again- “musical chemistry.”

Jude nodded slowly, brow furrowed understandably. Before any of the others could respond, though, Amherst clapped from in front of the stage, and they all instinctively looked to him. 

“Okay, I- uh- Jane, let’s run  _ Pulled  _ again?” He looked around the auditorium. “Where’s Mike?”

Annabelle slid herself off the end of the stage, hopping down onto the carpet. “He’s outside, I’ll go get him.”

As Annabelle left the auditorium and Jane readied herself to start the scene, the rest of the cast receded back into the wings. Agnes and Jude stood on either side of a costume rack, Agnes trying her best not to look at the other.

“Sorry about Annabelle, I think she just- wanted to invite you,” Agnes said, leaning back against the wall. At least the darkness of the wings were a good cover for the redness in her cheeks. Even in the shadows, though, Agnes knew Jude would be able to see through  _ that  _ lie.

“Oh, no, I  _ understand _ ,” Jude chuckled. “So when does it start, then?”

“Oh- seven thirty. It’s, uh, in the library. You don’t have to pay to get in, but you do have to pay to perform, and we- encourage donations. You know.”

Music started onstage, and Jude spoke a bit quieter as to not interrupt the scene. “I’m definitely not performing- hah.  _ No.  _ But I’ll… I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Agnes said, nodding. “I- thank you? Yeah.” She blushed even harder, embarrassed at her utter lack of eloquence. 

A voice came from the audience. “No talking in the wings, please!” it shouted.

Agnes and Jude looked at each other, holding in laughter, but Agnes wanted to be respectful of her friend and went silent. She still couldn’t help but glance at Jude. At least Amherst couldn’t reprimand her for that. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-11/19-

Hugging his canvas tote bag closer, Martin stepped through the airy pathways of the shop. He breathed in the scent of earth and lavender. Lush green plants surrounded him in every direction, basking in the light from the large windows. 

Martin came to this store every few months to buy a few more houseplants. Plants were, quite simply, a stress reliever for him, like poetry or candles (or late night baths) (or chocolate) (or knitting) (or daydreaming about Jon). Caring for them took every thought off of his own life, and he did so often. He obsessively looked after the ones in his flat- spending far too much of his meager salary on nice soil or intricate pots that went with his eclectic ‘aesthetic.’

He’d been too busy since September to buy any new plants, between school and his new group of teacher friends, as well as often feeling far too unmotivated to leave the house when he didn’t have to. But this Sunday, he forced himself to get out to the shop. 

He happened upon a plant he didn’t recognize. Leaning down to read the tag, he discovered it to be a  _ crocodile fern.  _ And on sale. Without a second thought, he picked it up and continued walking. A particularly large and healthy ficus tree stood at the end of a row of plants, and he admired it as he stepped around it, until that focused admiration caused him to bump right into someone.

“I- oh, so sorry!” he exclaimed, stepping back from the other person, who must have been quite short to be hidden by the tree. He looked down at them and sucked in a breath. 

Jon scowled up at him, before his face quickly softened. “Martin, I-” he looked down at his jumper. “Oh.”

Martin grimaced at the patch of soil that had fallen on Jon’s shirt. Somehow, the other man seemed a couple inches shorter than usual, which Martin hadn’t thought to be possible. “So sorry, I- obviously didn’t see you there, is it-” he reached out and swiped some of the dirt away from Jon’s chest, before realizing the connotation of his action and pulled his hand back. “Sorry. Again.”

Now that they were separated, Martin could easily inspect the medium sized plant that Jon held. Without thinking too much about it, he gently rubbed the edge of a frond. “A mother fern- pretty hard to keep alive, I, ah- didn’t expect to see you here? I wasn’t aware you were the, uh…  _ planting  _ type,” Martin stuttered. 

Jon’s gaze moved to the ground. “Well, ah. Georgie said my flat looked too depressing and- and recommended I get a plant or two to, you know, uh- liven up the space- I don’t know what I was thinking, really…”

Martin, amused, leaned on one hip. “You don’t know what you’re doing here, do you?” he laughed. 

Jon struggled for words. “I- I ah, I- I’ve done some research, a little, I uh-” he sighed. “No. Not really.”

“I’ll help you out then, I guess,” Martin said, and he gently took the pot of the fern from Jon, who frowned, defeated. “We can start you off with an easier one- maybe a spider plant?”

Jon cringed. “I’m- really not a fan of spiders.”

“It- it doesn’t actually look like a spider,” Martin laughed, leading him to a different corner of the shop, where a young looking spider plant sat on top of a shelf. He looked down- very much down, actually- at Jon and smiled. “See?”

Jon nodded. “Chances are I’ll kill it, but you know, as Georgie says, the moment you die will feel exactly the same as this one.”

“That’s… uncomfortably introspective.”

“Agreed.”

Jon reached up and took the plant off the shelf, and Martin even caught a small smile on his face, looking down at the leaves. “Will you name it?” Martin asked. 

Eyes wide, Jon looked up at him. “Oh- should I?”

Martin shrugged. “If- if you’d like? I do, it makes me feel more connected to them, I know that- that kind of sounds stupid, but it’s… it’s nice, I guess.”

After a moment of looking at the plant, Jon nodded. “Would it- would it be strange for me to name it Octokitten?”

Laughing, Martin shook his head. “Sometimes I manage to forget that you’re Jonny D’Ville, and then- and then you immediately remind me,” he wheezed, laughing even harder when he saw the fond look Jon was giving his new plant. “No, that’s- I don’t think that’s weird. Octokittens have eight tentacles anyway, probably better than eight spider legs- although spiders really  _ are  _ quite nice.” He mumbled the last part under his breath. 

“I should- I should probably go buy this,” Jon stammered, gesturing with one hand to the plant he held in the other. “Are you, ah, done shopping as well?”

Martin looked down at the two plants he held, a crocodile fern and a jade plant. He nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I- I suggested the plant, I could, ah, I could… buy… it?” he asked, cringing from uncertainty at the end of his question.

Jon vigorously shook his head. “No, no, I- I couldn’t ask you to do that, Martin, it’s- it’s quite alright, really. We can just- go, uh, go buy them,” he said quickly, and then turned around, already walking in the direction of the cash register. Martin bit his lip and watched Jon begin to walk away before following. 

They stood silently next to each other in line at the register, two people in front of them. The person buying their plant seemed to be in an in depth conversation with the cashier. Martin, shifting his weight nervously between his feet, spoke. “So, are we- having another, um, novel review next week? Yesterday’s went… well?”

This was a gross understatement. After a week of waiting, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, even if Martin remained awkward and Jon closed off for the couple hours they sat in PanoptiCoffee. 

“That would be beneficial, yes,” Jon said, not making eye contact. “Your suggestions were. Useful. On the first few chapters.”

“I- thanks,” Martin said, staring straight forward in line. He shouldn’t have offered to pay for the plant, he really shouldn’t have. It had thrown a filter of coldness over Jon again that Martin had to work so hard to erode. 

Jon nodded once. “Of course.”

Jon paid for his spider plant first, holding the pot with a level of care that convinced Martin he’d look after it well. And really, Jon could always turn to Martin for help with his houseplant endeavors- Martin would certainly be there for him. He always was, or at least wanted to be. 

After paying for his own plant as well, the two stepped outside of the shop, out of the warm cocoon of the store. Cars raced by and sent the bitter mid-November wind blowing against them, causing Jon’s long hair to fly wildly around his face. Annoyed, he quickly tied it up in a messy bun where they stood on the sidewalk. 

“So, uh- good luck with Octokitten,” Martin said. Jon adjusted his square glasses, pushing them up on his nose. 

“Right- ah, thanks. I should… get going then.”

Martin nodded, running a hand through his tangle of curls. “Yeah, uh, for sure! I’ll see you tomorrow! It was- nice running into you here.”

Jon rushed his goodbye, quickly turning away, and Martin ended up looking him up and down from the back until noticing his shoes. Jon usually walked a little bit differently than he was doing now. 

That’s when Martin realized- Jon must’ve worn lifts to school. He usually seemed about 5’4 or 5’5, but in more casual clothes and without the extra help, he very possibly only reached about 5’2. Martin stifled a fond smile watching Jon walk away. 

God, Jon was ridiculous. And that’s why Martin felt so strongly about him. 

\- - - - -

-11/21-

_ dance monkey dance monkey dance monkey ooh ooh ooh _

**TimStoner:** im gonna wear a hawaiin shirt to elias’s meeting tomorrow

**basirahuss01:** That’s not up to our dress code, Tim.

**TimStoner:** oh i know! i’ll change into it right before the meeting! perhaps even right in front of him!

**TimStoner:** rattle the jimmies of that little bitchboy

**TheRealSasha:** That’s… definitely not how the saying goes

**TimStoner:** jimmies will be RATTLED

**m.k.blackwood:** i, for one, believe in you, tim

**Section69:** okay but. Why

**TheStoner:** see??? martin cares about me!!! love u babe <333

**m.k.blackwood:** love.. you... too?

**Jon:** Is that the best idea, Tim? He is your boss, after all.

**TimStoner:** fuck u

**Section69:** Not My Boss

**Knives,Anyone?:** nothing but respect for MY asshole bitchboy twink sugar baby boss

**basirahuss01:** Can someone please change the name of the group chat?

**TimStoner:** smh change it yourself if you care that much

**TheRealSasha:** It’s okay we all know you’re very proud of your little names, Tim

**basirahuss01:** I’m honestly not quite sure how to.

**Section69:** haha boomer

**basirahuss01:** You are literally sitting next to me right now, Daisy.

**_Knives,Anyone?_ ** _ changed chat name to  _ **_elias hate club_ **

**TheRealSasha:** Perfection!

**m.k.blackwood:** i can get behind that

**Jon:** I can’t wait until all of you are fired.

**TimStoner:** aw i love u too kissy face emoji

**Section69:** please don’t ever say that again i hate you so fucking much

**TimStoner:** flower emoji star emoji firework emoji you’re the best i love u too bitch heart emoji kissy kissy emoji

\- - - - -

-11/22-

“Tim, I’d prefer it if you  _ didn’t  _ wear a Hawaiin shirt to your professional workplace.” Elias leaned forward, forearms placed firmly on the table. The air in the room changed as the other teachers waited around the two of them, wondering where this would go. Martin was surely keen to find out. 

Tim smirked. “And your Gucci cape thing is any better?”

Martin’s eyes once again inspected Elias’s upper body, which was indeed covered in a rather ridiculous, shiny velvet cape. The Gucci logo ran in patterns across his weaselly chest and shoulders. 

“Yes, I believe so,” Elias said, straightening himself up and clearing his throat. “Wearing tasteful and elegant clothing is a sign of professionalism and respect for my position.”

“I can change out of it if you want,” Tim said, wholly deadpan. 

Elias lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

The ensuing minutes were far too hilarious and scandalous to recount in any sense of good faith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just if y'all wanna know, here's the cape that elias was wearing: https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/women/ready-to-wear-for-women/outerwear-for-women/coats-for-women/gg-velvet-cape-p-5552103GC342065  
> okay anyway, this chapter was just a bunch of smaller scenes in a leadup to the obviously longer poetry and performance night chapter! i need to organize all my ideas for that one but im hype about it!! even thought it'll be difficult!!! ha!!!!  
> question, would you guys prefer me to order the scenes entirely in chronological order to make it less confusing in these kinds of clusterfuck chapters, or is my current formatting okay? because i honestly can't be sure and i should probably take y'all's reading experience into account here.  
> also, this chapter reached the over 200 pages on google docs benchmark!! how cool!! i couldn't have gotten this far without all of your amazing support and incredible comments, which truly feed my soul. i do love you all. stay funky, and stay fresh. Yeehaw


	20. 11/24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weewoo gays in the chat alert, they're turning the frickin frogs gay  
> anyway this chapter has been brewing in my mind for a very long time and i'm proud of actually reaching this point in the fic lmao. please enjoy

-Agnes Montague-

-11/24-

Exhausted, Agnes leaned over a bookshelf she’d been moving. She listened to the sound of her own breath for a moment, resting in a hiding place of the flat wood and her own arms. She just needed a moment or two. Not much more. Just enough to regroup her own self, forget about her current stress. 

“Hey, Agnes, do you think there are enough chairs out, or should we do more?” said a quiet voice from behind her. 

Roused from her one moment of solitude, Agnes turned to face Jane. “Fuck, it’s- it’s  _ fine,  _ Jane.”

Jane bit her lip. “Sorry, I- I’m sorry. I just wanted your opinion. Are you alright?”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. Just a bit-” she gave the other girl a tired smile- “overwhelmed.”

“Right, yeah, I get it,” Jane said, nodding. She walked away to presumably finish up with the chairs. 

Agnes watched members of the GSA skitter around the room, preparing it for the evening, listening to their quiet chatter in tune with the light patter of rain outside. She actually liked that it started raining just a bit after she arrived at the school. It set the mood well for a night of performance- and poetry. 

Just an hour away from the start of the fundraiser, Agnes’s stress from the last few months seemed to culminate and peak. She kept telling herself that this was it, after this she could relax, she could take a little more time for herself. But that was a lie and she knew it. The next day, she’d have work, and then would do AP homework for hours, and she still had drama and book club and GSA and quiz bowl and classes and a despondent mom and university searching and, oh yeah, a social life. 

And Jude. Ever present in the back of her mind, an answer that fueled so many questions. 

With this event, at least Agnes had the help of her fellow GSA members and Mr. Banks. On the small portable stage, Gerry and Michael struggled with Banks to set up the speakers and mics, occasionally letting out indignant sighs or complaints. 

Nikola was doing-  _ something.  _ Agnes couldn’t quite tell, and hell if she were going to ask. 

Their MC, Mr. Stoker, paced near the wall and read something off of cue cards. Jane and Annabelle were shifting the rows of chairs that made up the audience. Julia placed bowls for donations around the room, and set up a card scanner on her phone in case anyone wanted to donate that way. 

Really, everything seemed to be running smoothly, and Agnes had no reason to be worried as an overseer. And yet she was.

The next hour passed in a blur. It seemed to stretch on for too long, but not long enough, leaving Agnes running around still when the clock above the library’s doors reached 7:24. It was at that point that Annabelle grabbed Agnes’s arm and sat her down in a chair in the back row. 

“Breathe, okay? We’ve done good here, Agnes,” she said, reaching out a hand to rest gently on Agnes’s shoulder.

Agnes leaned into the touch. “Okay. Yeah. We’re fine- we’re fine.” She meant to quiet down for a moment, take a moment to breath like Annabelle said to, but her brain wouldn’t stop racing. “But do you think we’ll make our donation goal?”

Sighing, Annabelle nodded. “Yes, I do, but even if not, this is going to be a great night, okay? All of us are with you.”

The rain fell harder than it did before, no longer a light patter but an assault on the windows. Agnes smiled. “Are we still doing our song?” she asked.

“You bet your ass we are,” Annabelle said, standing up and stretching. “Shit, moving bookshelves and chairs will fuck over your back. Guess I’m a grandmother now. Where’s Jane?”

Agnes shrugged. “Not sure, maybe she’s in the bathroom?”

As if on cue, Jane walked into the library, and noticed Annabelle’s small wave. She walked over to them in the empty makeshift audience. They would’ve used the auditorium for the event, but the baked goods and hot chocolate they’d made at PanoptiCoffee wouldn’t have been allowed in there, and the library felt more fitting anyway. 

Jane grimaced. “There are two janitors in the hallway right outside the bathroom who I haven’t seen before, and they’re a little creepy- well, anyway. People should be coming soon, right?”

Agnes checked the clock again, now at 7:27. “Well, let’s hope.”

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

Martin took out his staff key card for the school’s entrance, but nearly as soon as he did, he realized the school would already be open tonight and put it away. He got inside as quickly as he could- any longer, and he’d be soaking wet from the rain. The group of teachers had canceled their usual game session to all attend the poetry and performance night, something they’d been waiting for weeks to happen. 

He was, admittedly, nervous. But not for himself- he didn’t plan to perform. Even though poetry was explicitly in the name of the event, he hardly wanted to bear his soul to other staff, students, and their families through the medium of mediocre poetry. No, he’d listen to other people and donate. He also heard there would be food from PanoptiCoffee, a factor that certainly factored into his attendance. 

Daisy was the reason for his nerves. Daisy and Basira were perfect together, and all of them just wanted the evening to go right. They’d wait until the last performance slot to do the proposal. Each of them had a part, an important role to play, something that the posterboard in his bag reminded him of. 

He checked his phone before going into the library. It was 7:34, so he’d gotten there in relatively good timing. The first person he noticed once inside was Jon- sitting in the back of the audience with a guitar case next to him, as he idly checked his phone. 

The library had been well set up for the event. Rows of chairs filled most of it, with the bookshelves pushed to the back and edges of the room, opening it up more than he’d seen before. Annabelle, Agnes, and Jane stood behind the table of PanoptiCoffee baked goods, all oriented to see the small stage set up next to the far wall of the library. 

More people were coming inside the doors, so Martin stepped aside and looked for where to go. He thought of heading over to sit with Jon, but abandoned this idea, too nervous to do so without a group. He noticed Daisy, Melanie, and Sasha sitting together closer to the front of the audience. He made a straight path to them. 

“Where’s Basira?” Martin asked, sitting down in the row behind Daisy and Melanie, leaving a seat between himself and Sasha. 

“In the bathroom,” Daisy answered. Martin noticed a slight tremble in her wrists as she gestured out the door of the library. 

Martin smirked. “Haven’t seen you quite so nervous before, Daisy,” he teased. 

“Shut up, this is important, fuck you.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You brought your sign, Martin?” she asked. 

He nodded and resisted the urge to pull it out of his bag, knowing Basira could walk inside the library at any moment. “Yep. In my bag.”

As the audience of folding chairs began to fill up, Martin watched Jon grab his guitar and walk over to their group, now with Basira next to Daisy (who barely spoke a word). Surprisingly, Jon sat himself down next to Martin. Their talking became less significant in the room as the low hum of conversation filled the air. People already had low value notes in the bowls at the edges of the room, and Julia and Nikola, running the credit card scanner, seemed to have some business. 

Jon carefully laid his guitar case against the chair in front of him. Wringing his hands slightly- the two of them usually sat across, not next to each other- Martin smiled at the other man. “Are, uh- are you performing? With your guitar?”

“In a way. Gerry wanted to perform, as many of the other GSA members are, and asked me to play guitar for him.”

Martin nodded. “Oh, cool! I, uh, I- look forward to seeing you two, then.” 

He jumped at the sound of another voice he hadn’t been expecting. “Hey- mind if I sit here?”

Martin looked up to see Oliver standing next to Jon, his hands in his pockets, smile bright and white and so wonderful. Oliver had such an amazing smile, whenever his face wasn’t serious like usual. He didn’t blame Jon for having  _ something  _ with Oliver- whatever it was they were to each other. 

Jon bit his lip. “Yes, that’s fine.” 

Martin cleared his throat, and Oliver noticed him sitting there for what seemed to be the first time. “Good- good to see you, Oliver.” He would’ve continued the conversation, but as Tim climbed onto the stage and removed the mic from his stand, the crowd went quiet. 

Martin, quite frankly, was surprised by the amount of people there. By no means could it be considered a packed house, but almost all of the chairs were filled, by plenty of people that Martin couldn’t even remember having seen before. 

Tim held the microphone in his one hand and let the other dangle loosely at his side, taking small steps around the stage as he began to speak. “Ladies, gents, and captains,  _ welcome  _ to Magnus Memorial’s poetry and performance night!” he shouted, the end of his sentence drowned out by claps and cheers from the audience. 

“Now, it’s important to remind us all of why we’re here tonight- we’re here to support the GSA club in their important fight to implement gender-neutral bathrooms in our humble school.” This was met with humble applause, less enthusiastic than the first, but reactive all the same. “So, if you’re planning to sign up for a still available slot tonight, we would appreciate a donation! Any amount is helpful for us, and in case anyone didn’t know, there  _ are  _ bowls placed around the room for any cash donations, and a credit card station for those who would like to give in that way.” He gestured to the two students behind the library desk, and Julia waved her hand. 

“Right, with all of that boring stuff out of the way,” Tim said, eliciting a slight chuckle from the audience, “we have a wonderful roster of performers and speakers for you tonight! So please, sit back, get some delicious brownies from the PanoptiCoffee table- I mean genuinely heavenly- relax, and enjoy! First up is Nathan Watts with his poem  _ Anglerfish _ .”

\- - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

Drumming her fingers on the edge of the table, Agnes peered out at the crowd. “She said she was coming yesterday, right? Where do you think she is? I mean, it’s only 7:49, she has time, right?” Agnes rushed out, speaking quietly under the voice of someone on stage. 

Annabelle huffed. “Agnes. Babe. You’ve already said pretty much the exact same thing six times already.”

“If Jude is coming, then she’ll come, and if not, I’m sure there’s a reason,” Jane said, with a sympathetic smile. 

Agnes pulled her phone out from her pocket. “I- shit, I’ll just text her.”

**_me:_ ** _ hey! are you still coming to the fundraiser tonight? no rush or anything just curious _

She sent the message, which was admittedly much more chill than she felt. She put her phone away without receiving an answer, disappointed at the lack of even a ‘read’ receipt. 

Polite applause came from the audience, snapping Agnes out of her brief wallow. Mr. Stoker took the mic again- she didn’t regret asking him to MC for the event. “Alright, next up we have a  _ very  _ talented trio of GSA students- please welcome to the stage, Agnes, Annabelle, and Jane, performing  _ Love Song!” _

Agnes turned to the others. “Wait- we’re up?”

Annabelle shrugged, already edging her way past Agnes to get out from behind the table. “I guess so, and we need to get up there, so come on.”

For an awkward, silent minute or two in the library, the trio made their way to the stage. They placed themselves in the practiced formation- Agnes at the front of their triangle, with Annabelle behind her and to her right, Jane mirroring on the left. She grabbed the mic from the stand as the others took their own from next to the stage. 

Agnes winced at the feedback from the speakers as their backtrack started to play, a couple bars of sharp piano. But she ignored this and took a breath, facing a larger audience than she had in some time. The adrenaline of getting to the stage started to wear off and she was left with only nerves, buzzing louder in her head than the piano could ever hope to. 

She started singing without really thinking about it, her body knowing this song better than her brain at this point. They’d done it a multitude of times before- Agnes didn’t know why she felt so  _ nervous.  _ But then she realized; there was a chance Jude was there or would be there, hiding in the audience somewhere she hadn’t seen, or just about to walk in. Her hip bounced slightly to the rhythm. 

_ “Head underwater, and they tell me, to breathe easy for a while. Breathing gets harder, even I know that,”  _ she sang, quiet but supported into the mic, just her and the piano and dozens of people watching. 

As she continued the verse, even in the darkness of the library now, she saw the door open slowly. From it stepped out a familiar figure- Jude, her head turned entirely to the stage. She closed the door as quietly as possible and remained leaning against the wall, watching. 

Agnes tried to look away as much as possible. She thought it possible that, if they met eyes, she wouldn’t be able to sing at all, and so she directed her gaze to the back wall of the library. 

When Annabelle and Jane stepped in for their solo vocals, she took those seconds to breathe and watch Jude’s movements- which were almost nonexistent. She leaned against the wall next to the doors and watched them with crossed arms and intense eyes, despite the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

Agnes finished the song with heavy breaths. It had gone well, actually- despite their lack of actual preparation, and her stress before and during it, they kind of nailed it. In her opinion.

Loud applause and cheering came from the audience as she stood in her ending pose, with the usually quiet Gerry and Michael making the most noise for them. Agnes bowed and assumed the others followed suit before they quickly left the stage, laughing and giving each other small hugs of celebration. They made their way back behind the table, ignoring what Mr. Stoker was saying as they whispered to each other. 

Jane bounced slightly, hands over her mouth. “That was so fun oh my  _ god _ ! We- we were good, right, guys?” she asked, smiling at the others. 

“We were, and you were  _ incredible,  _ Janey,” Annabelle said, pulling the other girl in a short but tight hug. 

Agnes looked across the room at the doors to the library. She and Jude locked eyes.

“I’ll- I’ll be back,” Agnes stammered, scooting around the table and away from her friends before they could say anything. Jude noticed her walking closer and raised her eyebrows, pushing off the wall to stand straight. Agnes breathed in and out before stopping in front of her. 

“Jude- hi. What… what did you think?”

The end of Jude’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “It was cute. You sounded good." 

“Cute?” Agnes asked, taken aback.

Jude paused for a moment. “Yeah. The- the song. It was cute.”

They stood in silence for another moment, someone’s voice from onstage filling in the blanks. Agnes shifted her weight between her feet, breaking away eye contact. 

“Jude- do you want to stand with us at the, uh, at the table? We’ll even give you a free cookie or something if you want,” she said, laughing nervously at the end. “We also have hot chocolate, if that makes a difference.”

Jude shrugged. “I could go for some of that.”

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

At some point before the time of 8:17, Melanie had moved to the seat next to Martin’s, giving up her front row seat for Georgie. This was very unfortunate for Martin. 

“You write poetry, yeah?” Melanie whispered, leaning close to Martin.

Martin sighed. “It’s not that great.”

She pouted. “Wow, Martin, so much for supporting the cause.”

“I- I- uh, I do!” Martin stammered, earning a glance from Jon to his other side. “I just don’t have any of my poems with me! Or anything! It just- it just wouldn’t be good.”

Jon shrugged, apparently listening in on their conversation. “I don’t know, you  _ could  _ do a poem…”

Martin couldn’t tell them that all the poems he wrote were sad, or about his mom, or both, or Jon. There were a lot about Jon. Unfortunately, Sasha also joined in egging him on, now all three of them telling him to read a poem to ‘support the cause.’

He huffed. “I’m serious, I- I don’t have any on me! Not even in my phone.”

Sasha quirked her head in disbelief. “None? Really? Not in this whole school?”

Well, technically, he did have one in the school, one that Martin had forgotten about for over a month. It was in the bottom of a drawer in his desk, tucked away, a snapshot of one of his more frustrated moments. It had been valid too, considering that just days after writing it, Jon decided to give him the cold shoulder for weeks. Martin still didn’t know why that happened. 

“I mean, I do have one- it’s in my classroom, though.”

Melanie smiled, mischievous and almost teasing. “Well, go  _ get  _ it then! We can let Tim know during someone’s performance that you’re going to read it. Oh my god, this is fantastic.”

“Will it get you to shut up?” Martin asked with desperation. Melanie and Sasha nodded, Jon having tuned out of this conversation a few minutes ago, his head turned to Oliver. “Fine.  _ Fine,  _ I’ll get it, you just- please don’t make fun of me, okay?”

They reluctantly agreed they wouldn’t, and as quietly as possible, Martin squeezed his way out of the row of chairs and into the hallway. He took a free breath when finally alone, unencumbered by other people packed in around him. 

He walked quickly to his classroom, shaky hands struggling with the keys that opened the door. His classroom at night felt so strangely different- he’d just been in there earlier that day, but now no sunlight illuminated the room, its fluorescent lights cast a harsh otherworldly glow on the desks. 

Martin rooted through the drawers of his desk. After about a minute, he triumphantly found the folded paper, the ink smudged slightly from being pressed into itself for over a month. He smoothed it out and reread the words. It would have to do. 

Once the classroom was locked again and he was back in the audience, Tim nodded at him from next to the stage. Melanie tried to get a peek at the poem- he hugged it closer to himself, shielding it from view. All too soon, Tim was back up on stage and looking right at him. 

“And up next, another poem by our wonderful staff member Martin K. Blackwood. Everyone give it up for our favorite English teacher!”

The audience gave him polite, welcoming applause. He glared again at Melanie, Sasha, and Jon. “I can’t believe you made me do this,” he hissed. Melanie was the only one who dignified him with a response, and even that ended up as a shrug. 

He trembled more than he thought he would when up on that stage. He struggled to remember even one time before when he’d read his poetry to  _ anyone-  _ much less an audience of strangers. God, he wasn’t even that good. And he knew it. Would they fire him from his job as an English teacher? Deem him unfit to teach public school classes, centered around a language he obviously hadn’t mastered? The microphone stand was a little too short for him. He reached out to adjust it, before abandoning the idea, his hands too shaky to do it properly. The lights were bright. Too bright. Someone’s glasses in the audience distracted him for a moment. Why had he given into his idiotic friends?

Trying to calm himself, Martin took a breath.  _ Read like you’re speaking into the mirror.  _

He was about to read a poem about Jon  _ to  _ Jon, and all of their friends as well. Breathe. 

“This is, uh- ‘Wax on a Wooden Table,” he started. He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. 

“ _ Messy. Stuck. _

_ Remove it, and there will always be a stain. _

_ Pieces of blue or orange or whichever colour I lit today. _

_ Either that- or burn the whole table down.  _

_ I feel my tears like wax upon a wooden table.  _

_ Messy. Stuck. _

_ The tears burn when they drip onto my hand.  _

_ I watch as they harden, a white, uncaring drop. _

_ When you light a candle, it is bright, colourful. _

_ But eventually- the light dims.  _

_ The running shape of wax cools slowly, settling onto the hardwood.  _

_ I noticed it too late.  _

_ Sticky. Hot. _

_ Then messy, stuck. _

_ The first candle was yellow.  _

_ I was optimistic when I met you, perhaps naive. _

_ The next was pink. _

_ Then orange. _

_ And white.  _

_ On and on- _

_ Green, jealousy. _

_ Blue, sadness.  _

_ So here I am.  _

_ Staring at a ruined table.  _

_ Wax is staining the polished wood. _

_ I wish that someone, one day, will tell me when the wax starts dripping. _

_ And for once, the candle won’t burn alone.” _

There was a deafening silence before the applause. He held his breath until the first clap, waiting for his dismissal, immediately leaving the stage when he heard it. The poem was stuffed back in his bag as soon as he sat down. 

Melanie punched his shoulder. “My guy, that was great! I don’t know what you were so nervous about. Very free-form. That’s what it’s called, right?”

He didn’t have time to respond to her before turning his head to Jon, who had a small smile on his face. That alone made the reading worth it. 

“I- I don’t like poetry,” Jon said.

Martin smiled. “I know.”

“But you- well, that wasn’t… it was better than some other poetry I’ve heard.”

“Thank you?” Martin laughed. “Yeah, thank you.” He had to remember to give the GSA a few pounds for his performance.

Tim’s voice once again came loudly to them from the stage. “Alright, I  _ do  _ love some poetry, but now we have a special treat for you guys- a teacher-student duo, actually! Now please welcome Gerry Keay and the lovely Mr. Jonathan Sims onstage for a rendition of- oh-  _ Runaways  _ by-” Tim paused, obviously holding in laughter, “All Time Low.”

As Jon stood, picking up his guitar, Georgie snorted from the row in front and turned around. “Jon, be honest, are you secretly a fourteen year old emo?”

Jon shrugged. “Well, no, but he kind of is,” he said, gesturing to Gerry. 

The two of them climbed onstage together. Jon sat on a stool toward the back of the stage, and somehow, the makeshift stage lights looked flattering on him, illuminating every bit of wild frizz of his hair and glint in his eyes. Martin leaned forward in his chair and pushed down the smile fighting to beam out from his face. 

Gerry picked up the microphone, pursing his lips with adorable nervousness. Very quickly, he put the mic to his phone, rushing out the words “this is dedicated to Michael.” He said it so fast that it was nearly hard to catch, but Martin heard it and glanced to the back of the room, where the other sophomore leaned on top of a bookshelf and smiled at the goth onstage. 

Martin didn’t like thinking too much about the romantic lives of his students- quite honestly, he thought that to be creepy- but he couldn’t help but feel that Michael and Gerry were perfect complements of each other. Plus, he knew from their gradebooks that they had very compatible star signs. 

  
  


\- - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

“Alright, and here’s your chocolate cookie as well,” Agnes said, smiling. She handed the brown paper bag to a kind looking woman at their table between performances. 

They’d been selling well- the canister of hot chocolate was about half full still, and about a third of their baked goods were still out, but that was better than any of them thought things would go. At least James was gracious enough to let them take some of the goods for free, so they would actually turn a profit from it. Between hot chocolate and baked desserts, they’d made just over seventy pounds already. 

However, Agnes still couldn’t be free from stress as the evening went on. Every guest with a question was pointed her way, as well as most of the selling, and tracking performer order. Mr. Banks dealt with the technical aspect of necessary backtracks and keeping the mics and speakers running, so she didn’t blame him for not taking full charge. After all, he’d said before that this was their club and their responsibility- he only guided them. 

She checked her phone and realized that the event should be ending soon- somehow, time had already flown to 9:16. They planned to end around 9:30. 

Someone else came up to the table. They asked for hot chocolate, and Agnes, still working with their shitty register after the last customer, delegated the order to Jane. 

It wasn’t until she heard a crash from the other side of the table that Agnes noticed the situation. 

Jane clapped her hands over her mouth, staring at the large metal canister of hot chocolate on the floor, the hot brown liquid seeping out in every direction. She looked between the canister and the woman, eyes wide. “Oh- oh my god, I am- I am so sorry, oh my god,” she stammered. 

Annabelle looked over from where she’d been throwing out food packaging. She hurried over to the table, and with Jane, started to pick up the heavy canister and set it back on the table, empty now. Agnes didn’t even have time to ask how this happened. 

Every head in the audience had turned to the PanoptiCoffee snack table. Thankfully, Mr. Stoker was speaking between acts, and eventually managed to regain the general attention. Jane apologized profusely to the woman who’d been ordering as Agnes struggled to sop up the mess with small napkins. 

“Shit, Annabelle, what do we do?” Agnes asked, frantically picking up the soaked napkins. 

Annabelle pursed her lips and went quiet for a moment. “Jane mentioned those two janitors early- could they still be here? Maybe you can find them,” she said, grimacing. 

Agnes stood and nodded. “Okay, yeah, good plan.” She practically ran out the doors to the library. Jude was in the bathroom, and Agnes looked out for her as she ran down the hall, but the other girl was nowhere in sight- neither were the pair of janitors. She turned down another hall and almost collided with a large man.

She took a few staggering steps back, but breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have found them. The night had been going so well- she couldn’t leave a mess in the library and cause Leitner to hate her for the rest of her high school career. 

Looking between the two of them, both huge and muscular, Agnes realized they were twins. “Oh, uh- excuse me?”

They glanced at each other. “Why, hello,” one said, speaking with a nearly comical Cockney accent. 

“Sorry to bother you, but we had a big spill in the library just now, could you come help us out?” she asked. She was still a little out of breath after her sprint. 

The man who hadn’t spoken yet tilted his head to a side, ending at an angle that was slightly strange. Agnes couldn’t tell why. “What’s your name?”

Agnes frowned. “Uh, Agnes?”

One of the burly men smiled. “I’m Breekon.” He turned to the other janitor. “And you are?”

“I’m Hope. And you are?”

“I’m Breekon.”

Agnes was sure they would’ve continued on with this, faces slack and deadpan, but she couldn’t deal with it. “Look, this is rather time sensitive, could you please come to the library? There’s hot chocolate all over the carpet.”

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

The time had come. 

Basira was the only one in their group who didn’t have to prepare, wasn’t discreetly clutching at a sign. Tim walked onto the stage and took the mic. 

“For the final act, we have something very special to show all of you. I won’t give much introduction for this one- just wait to the end.”

That was their cue. Seven of them stood and went next to the stage, leaving Basira bewildered in her seat, alone in their previously crowded section. The first in line, Martin hugged his sign close and away from the audience. He took the few steps onto the stage and behind the mic.

He leaned forward into it, breaking the anxious silence in the library. 

“First, is the letter M. It could stand for math. Like an equation, a confusing and complex equation, but one where all the variables and constants are two people who end up making their own perfect answer.”

He stepped back and to the end of the stage, as far back as he could go, and flipped his sign around. A large  _ M  _ was written on the front in black, wide ink. His fingers gripped at the edges like a lifeline. After only a few months of knowing these people, these wonderful, ridiculous teachers, he couldn’t be more honored to have started this moment. 

Next, Sasha went to the mic. She didn’t try to hide the wide smile spreading across her face. “A- it’s for always. A lifetime, a forever. A promise that doesn’t end.” She positioned herself next to Martin, flipping her sign around to reveal an  _ A.  _ They glanced at each other, knowing and excited. 

Then Georgie. Martin had been surprised when he learned that Daisy wanted Georgie to be a part of this, considering how short of a time they’d known her, but she already felt like a part of their family. “There are two R’s, and they’re for two  _ right _ people. Right for each other, and right in this world together.” She slotted in beside the other two- a sign with two  _ R _ ’s. 

Tim next, repeating the process. “Y stands for ‘yes’- which is definitely how you should answer.”

As he fell into place, Martin squinted to look at the audience, seeing Basira stare at them with a questioning intensity. If Martin felt this nervous, and this shaky, he couldn’t imagine the way that Daisy was possibly feeling. 

Melanie leaned into the microphone. “The second M is for ‘messy.’ Because life and relationships are messy, but they’re beautiful, and the only things worth doing are both.” A sign with another  _ M.  _

Lastly, pushing a stray piece of dark hair behind his ear, Jon stepped up to the mic. He hunched slightly in front of it, a much different demeanor than Jonny D’Ville, but then again, this was a much different moment. “E. It’s for exit. Or entrance, really. You’re exiting one part of life and throwing yourself into a new chapter. The start of your narrative masterpiece.”

When he flipped around his sign in the line, done more sloppily than the others but with just as much care, it spelled out a clear sentiment.  _ Marry Me.  _

At this point, Basira had a hand raised to her face, her eyes tracking every moment as Daisy positioned the microphone in front of her. Each of them in the line behind her smiled and looked at each other, honored to be a part of this moment, honored to be a part of the story that would be told for years. 

Daisy’s shoulders rose and fell. “And then the last part, or really, the most important part- Basira. I’m not one for big speeches usually, but- the name Basira stands for ‘wise.’ But you’re more than that. To me, Basira means love and light and all that is good, it means- it means calm and peace.  _ Basira  _ is for the best thing that has ever happened to me. Basira is the one person I could not live without, and wouldn’t want to, anyway.”

She flipped around her sign. The poster board said  _ Basira,  _ in clean, simple letters, but Martin saw it as beautiful. Daisy took a large step off the front of the stage, and then slowly approached Basira, who smiled in her aisle seat. 

Daisy spoke as she walked, the sign down at her side now. “All of that- all of it together- is what I want to ask you today. Basira, you’re my constant, you’re my always, you’re my right puzzle piece, you’re my beautiful mess, you’re my new chapter.”

There were gasps from the audience as she went down to one knee in front of Basira’s chair, dropping the sign next to her. In its place, she pulled out a black box. 

“And it’s because of that, I’m asking- will you marry me?”

She opened the box. 

The audience hung in anticipation, the teachers- the friends, the  _ family,  _ pressing against each other in their line onstage. Basira took her hands away from her mouth, and before even speaking, nodded vigorously, nodding like she couldn’t do it enough. 

“Yes, I- a hundred times yes- yes!” 

Daisy, laughing and smiling, forgot about the ring altogether and pulled Basira into a tight kiss as the audience erupted into applause and cheers around them. On the stage, the teachers hugged and cheered as well. Daisy and Basira pulled apart, and Daisy slipped the ring on the other’s finger before they hugged each other, almost desperately. 

It was a good night. 

\- - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

Fifteen minutes after the last audience member cleared out, Agnes wiped off the table, once again hearing about the damn proposal she’d missed. 

“Oh my god, Agnes, it was so romantic, you- you wouldn’t have even  _ believed  _ it,” Annabelle said, rephrasing what she and Jane had gone on about before for what could’ve easily been the tenth time. 

“Well, sorry that I was doing something  _ useful, _ ” Agnes huffed. The other two went silent. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that- I’m just tired.”

And with good reason, too, considering that it was nearly ten o’clock. Usually she wouldn’t be tired at that hour, but the event had taken its toll. 

“It’s okay,” Jane said. “I’m the one who spilled it anyway. How much did we make?”

Agnes scrunched up her nose, trying to think. “Well, we’ll have to count it all more exactly later, but I’d estimate maybe five or six hundred? Between the PanoptiCoffee stuff, the donations, and the performance fee, I’d be surprised if it was less.”

Annabelle nodded. “No matter what, it’s a step in the right direction. I think we’ve shown that this is a possible project, right? Mr. Bouchard can’t refuse us now- we have some actual funds, and now he knows we’re capable of getting more.”

“Tell that to the old fucking tories on the board,” Agnes sighed. “They’ll probably veto us with any reason possible.”

Jane frowned. “Well, it’s worth the fight, right?”

“Yeah,” Agnes said. She looked around the room, watching the faces of the GSA members she felt so close to. Even Nikola, who nobody could even start to figure out, was important to her after these few months. They were a team- and together, they’d get these bathrooms, the start of greater change at their school. The start of greater change in general. “It’s worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh that was a lot i know but!! thank you for reading!!!  
> big thank you to @lyinginspirals for the poem (because i cannot write poetry For Shit). everyone please go check out their amazing fic called "earl grey and add-on purchases," it's wonderful and you will not regret it!!!  
> also, i totally based the spooky lesbians Love Song trio off of Glee, so here's a link to that performance if you'd like to see what i imagine in my head for them (agnes as rachel, annabelle as santana, jane as quinn):   
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDuLEAF9kcQ  
> thank you so much for reading this, y'all have no clue how much i appreciate each and every one of you. your comments are amazing and they're where i get all my motivation from lmao, so don't hesitate to leave any of your thoughts for my dumb ass to read and respond to! as always, stay funky, and definitely stay fresh. Yeehaw


	21. 11/28-30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright folks- CW for homophobia and shitty moms, also death and Dying Alone and such if that kind of thing isn't good for you  
> last november chapter!! we are cruisin y'all!!!

-Martin Blackwood-

-11/28-

Martin held a strong dislike for the bedsheets in his mother’s care home. It was the smallest, most nuanced complaint to have with the facility, but he fidgeted with the blankets every time he sat on the queen bed. He’d rub the edges of sheets with excruciatingly low thread counts between his fingers, looking for any bit of escapism from the current situation. It was part of why he’d bothered to knit his mother a blanket- a blanket that couldn’t be seen anywhere in the room. 

Sitting on the bed, feet crossed together and fidgeting, Martin traced his finger along the edge of the bedsheets and tried to separate himself. Separate himself from this conversation- or lack of it- and separate himself from his own life for a moment. 

He worried at his lower lip. “I wish they’d told me about it, really, I would’ve come. It was- it was a nice service, I hope?”

His mother lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, Bertrand’s? I didn’t go.”

“Wait, I- why not?” Martin asked. 

She shrugged. “Didn’t really seem worth the time.”

Martin fought the rising anger in his chest, knowing it wasn’t worth the fight. His frustration wouldn’t help Bertrand. Bertrand, the old man with the kind eyes who always said hello to him. Bertrand would laugh about his mother and offer for Martin to join him for the home’s baking nights. Martin would always decline, citing other plans, which were almost always real. Now he regretted never attending. 

“He was _nice,_ mum, I’d say that’s- that’s worth time!”

“From what I hear, he didn’t have a service anyways,” she said apathetically from her armchair. He shifted uncomfortable, feeling wrong from speaking this way about a recently deceased person. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s dead now like we’ll all be soon here.”

Martin huffed. “Don’t- don’t _talk_ like that, yeah? At least you didn’t catch whatever he had.”

“Oh, now, don’t be too concerned about your dear old mum, you barely come to visit her anyway.”

“I do my best, I-” Martin stopped. “Sorry.”

The voice in the back of his head yelled at him, telling him that he didn’t have to apologize, but he ignored it. He’d long left speaking up for himself in the past. That was the remnant of teenage stupidity and rebellion. The echo of his younger fighting spirit would sometimes flash in his memory, but he ignored it- being that person never got him much of anywhere. The cruel world is just as harsh to passive people. 

“Hmph. You better be. At this rate, I’ll be long dead before you get it together and give me grandchildren,” she sighed. 

“Fine. You’re right.”

She leaned back in her chair, her short white hair just a few inches beneath the landscape painting behind her. Martin stared at the diving bird and reminded himself to stay calm. More intrigued than question, his mother tapped a finger on the armrest. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Martin shrugged. “Can’t say I’m planning on kids.”

“You’re gay.”

Taken aback, Martin struggled for words, ambushed by this sudden statement- not even a _question-_ said by his mother. Had he finally ruined everything? Thrown off the delicate balance of their interactions? He hadn’t said anything much different than usual, or with any particular hints embedded, and yet somehow she’d just blurted out _that_ with unnerving confidence. 

A surge of panic swelled deep within him. Even as his vocal cords felt like they were restricting, his mouth dry and blood rushing to his face, Martin nodded. “Yes.”

His mother shook her head. “I always knew, you know. I knew, but I hoped I was wrong, and then you never had a girlfriend and always wrote in those silly notebooks of yours. I knew there was something wrong with you.”

Martin didn’t have anything left in him to be angry with. He let it all drain out, all those years of anxiety over what would happen if she found out. The tension left and he felt _empty._ Like he’d been hollowed out, rid of the fears that governed his life for so long but in the worst possible way. There was no relief in this. 

“Something… wrong. With me.”

“Yes,” she said nonchalantly, as if nothing of importance could possibly be happening. “I thought I’d raised you right, or at least done the best that I could, and yet you still turned into _this._ I shudder to think it’s my fault- but it’s not. You’ve made your own decisions. 

“I- it’s, it’s not a _decision,_ mum, this is just-” he paused. “This is just me. I can’t change it! And I- I don’t _want_ to!”

She didn’t answer. For a long moment, she stared at him, almost with the sick ghost of a smile on her face. Martin dreaded the moment that she spoke again. 

Eventually, she did. “Leave.”

“What?”

“Go. Get out. Leave.”

Without resistance, Martin stood and walked to the door. 

He wanted to leave with strength. He wanted to walk out of that room without saying goodbye, and he’d never come back. He would pay for her bills at the nursing home and get her cremated when she died and that would be it. Maybe, finally, he could be rid of her. 

Martin, with his hand on the doorknob, turned back to face his mother. “Do you want me to come back?” After a moment, he added to this. “Ever?”

She nodded, her face to the large window on the other side of the room. “Well, I need you to, technically. Don’t mention this again. I’d rather not be reminded of another failure.”

A scathing retort was on Martin’s tongue, ready to shout or cuss her out for the first time in many years. He wanted to, so badly, so fucking badly he wanted to give her a piece of his _mind._ She didn’t get to say these things to him without consequence. That’s a privilege she’d never earned. 

But the words died on his lips. He turned the doorknob, greeted by the lifeless beige of the corridor’s walls. “I’ll… see you later.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Without force, he closed the door and let it click gently closed. He searched for some anger inside. Even sadness would be satisfactory, just _something,_ something to feel and something to cry about. But it wasn’t there. His eyes were dry. 

Hollowed.

He walked down the stairs of the home, wishing for Bertrand’s cheery voice to call out to him and say hello. But the kind old man never did, and so he went to the front desk, writing down the time on the sign in paper like nothing had happened.

Instead of turning to leave, Martin looked at the woman behind the desk, someone he didn’t recognize. “Sorry, I- excuse me?”

She looked up from the desktop computer and smiled. “Hi, how can I help you?”

Martin drummed his fingers on the top of the desk. “Sorry, I- a resident recently passed here, Bertrand Miller?”

The woman remained smiling, but less so, her eyes falsely sad. “Oh, yes, that really was terrible. Such a wonderful man.”

Martin nodded. “Yes, uh- was he buried somewhere?”

She cocked her head. “Would you like the address for the cemetery the county put him in?”

“The county did?” Martin asked, leaning forward on the desk. 

“Sadly, no family claimed him, and so he was buried in a government-owned cemetery, but I assure you we made sure everything was done well. Would you like the address?”

Martin shook off the bit about his family and nodded. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

The woman ripped a post-it note off a stack next to the computer and jotted something down. She handed it over to him, the bright pink of the paper almost an ironic contrast to the information being exchanged. “Right, thank you.”

She smiled again. “Of course! Have a nice day.”

Stepping outside of the care home, Martin read the address and realized it was only a few blocks away. He wondered how many former residents were buried there. In a spur of the moment decision, Martin turned away from his car and started off in the other direction, hugging his jacket closer against the cold. 

The late November wind stung his face as he walked. About a block into the walk, Martin realized he was treading toward the grave of a man he’d barely known. It made no _sense_ for him to feel this deeply affected, and part of him wanted to run the other way, forget all about this day and everything that had happened in it. 

His feet slammed down hard on the pavement. A question from Jon, asked only a bit more than a month but practically forever ago, showed up again in his mind. _Why do you care so much?_

At some point, the realizations came crashing down onto Martin again. His mother knew he was gay. He was a failure. He was wrong. He was a mistake and alone- completely alone, alone on the street and in his head and in his life, he was alone. 

A few stray flowers grew between the cracks of the pavement. Wiping away tears he hadn’t noticed were there in the first place, he picked a few, clutching them tightly as if great treasures. 

Bertrand died without family to claim him. Maybe Martin cared the most about him- maybe Martin was the only one who’d been willing to walk a few blocks to pay his respects. The thought sickened him. Was it this easy to die alone? This easy to leave and have no one alive to still truly care about you?

The words of his mother replayed over and over again, and a worse emotion than anger or sadness built up until he felt ready to explode. Panic. Primal and utter panic, like smoke was rolling in from every direction and he was suffocating beneath it, suffocating in the emptiness and loneliness of his current surroundings. 

He somehow reached the iron fence of the cemetery, intimidating and uninviting. The fog wasn’t just clouding his head- a thick, oppressive mist rose from the damp ground of the cemetery. It closed in on him from all sides and threatened to drown him. 

Move. Move. He was having trouble moving. His body didn’t want to obey his brain that fired in all directions at once, sparking and dying and fading in and out. It was likely his head was refusing to send out directions at all, leaving his limbs to fend for himself as he _panicked._

He leaned against the sharp iron fence. Though cold and hard, it gave him some support, acting as an object to ground him in reality. A reality he didn’t want to participate in. He shivered. The fog was damp and unwavering, rising up quite suddenly after he’d reached the cemetery. 

Not a single person had been walking near him throughout his trip, and that remained true now. No one was there to help him. 

He was alone. 

Maybe things would be easier if he just stayed there, wrapped up in the cold embrace of silent fog. He had no family to go to. No one except his mother, who regarded him as a failure or some kind of freak, unwilling to tolerate him for longer than five minutes. Bertrand didn’t have any shitty mothers to worry about, not by the time he died. It terrified Martin that, if he were to die that day, he’d die alone and unloved. 

He liked the fog. 

Suddenly, there was a vibration in his back pocket. With no small amount of effort, he reached to pull out his phone, the screen bright in the dim surroundings of early winter. 

It was, surprisingly, Jon.

**Jon:** Have you looked over the fourth chapter yet? I’m referring back to it in what I’m currently writing. 

Martin smiled fondly, wiping another tear from his eye. Jon made him feel something other than empty, and he loved that. He didn’t _love_ Jon- that was too much too fast. But Martin knew he would.

Jon asked him once about why he cared the way he did, talking like it was some sort of admirable trait. Martin leaned against the fence and looked around at the fog, just barely obscuring headstones in the distance. None of the graves had flowers or other gifts on them, or even quotes. Just names and numbers that no longer mattered to anyone. And all Martin had to give where a couple barely-flowers picked from between cracks in the pavement. 

Martin ignored Jon’s question. 

**m.k.blackwood:** how do i stop caring so much?

He slid against the iron fence, down to the ground, where the moisture on the grass seeped uncomfortably through his trousers. He ignored the feeling, receiving a response almost immediately. His brain was still clouded from panic and the biting cold, unable to process anything except the words he kept repeating in his thoughts. 

**Jon:** Why would you want to?

 **m.k.blackwood:** it hurts to. how do you not care so much?

 **Jon:** I do.

 **Jon:** Martin, are you alright?

 **m.k.blackwood:** i’m at a cemetery because a man from my mother’s nursing home died and no one else cares about him. they didn’t even have a service for him. i honestly don’t know why i came

 **Jon:** To me, it sounds like you’re doing the right thing. 

**m.k.blackwood:** i don’t even have real flowers for him, i found a few off the street. he deserves better than any of this

 **Jon:** What cemetery is this?

 **m.k.blackwood:** Hezekiah Wakely cemetery

When Martin looked up from his phone, the fog still surrounded him, although not quite as completely. He tested out his misbehaving muscles. His legs agreed to work, and he grabbed onto the fence while climbing upright, looking out into the rows of gravestones. Taking a deep breath, he walked through the gate and started to search. 

He kept the phone in one hand, waiting for another buzz. All he could do was wait for a message from Jon. As silly as it was, Jon helped, with his proper writing and cryptic wording. But he didn’t get a text back. 

Martin wandered through the headstones, looking for the newest and most pristine of them. He passed through four rows of graves, each shrouded in mist, before finally reading a recognizable name. 

Bertrand had apparently lived to be seventy-five. The name he’d cheerily called out, walking up worn carpet in the nursing home, had now been transferred to cold stone. He doubted he’d ever say the name much more after that day. Hopefully, even without a service, they’d given him a nice burial in good clothes and a suitable coffin. 

As he stood in front of the impeccably new headstone, Martin rocked back and forth on his feet. His arms wrapped tightly around himself in an effort to conserve heat. The chill easily pervaded his fleece lined jean jacket, leaving him shivering. He could’ve just left then- laid down his sad bunch of flowers and gone. 

But he remained clutching the street-flower bouquet and looking around him. Why wasn’t anyone around? He hadn’t heard a sound beside his own breath since a couple blocks away from the cemetery, and now everything was stiflingly still, as if hanging in the fog. 

He didn’t know how long had passed before he jumped from the voice behind him. 

“Martin?”

Startled, Martin turned around. He blinked a few times, worried he was seeing incorrectly, but then smiled. “Jon, I… didn’t know you were coming.”

Jon hadn’t seemed to know this either, looking particularly rumpled. He’d only dressed for being outside with a three quarter length black coat. Martin knew that if even _he_ was cold, Jon’s small figure would allow him even less heat. 

More surprising, though, was the brightly colored bouquet of flowers in Jon’s hand. 

Martin gestured to them. “Did you- did you bring those for Bertrand?”

Jon nodded. “You, ah, you said you didn’t have flowers,” he said, eyes not making contact. That was fine with Martin; he’d more than gotten used to it with Jon. 

“Thank you,” Martin said. He didn’t just mean for the flowers, but Jon didn’t have to know that. 

Jon handed over the bouquet, and as he did, Martin noticed the fog had become lighter. It was now only a slight silver in the air, coloring it the way smoke yellowed old walls. They turned to the headstone together, side by side now. 

Jon scuffed his feet on the ground a few times. “Did he… mean a lot to you?”

Slowly, Martin shook his head. “No. Not at all, really. I didn’t- I didn’t think about him a lot, you know? He was just _there_ whenever I saw my mother, and now, and now- and now he’s gone. And no one else seems to care, so… so I will.”

“I care too, then.”

Martin let out a short, one second chuckle. “You didn’t even know him, Jon,” he said, glancing at the other man from the corner of his eye. 

Jon shrugged. “I can care, I think. Two people remember Bertrand.”

With a shaking hand, Martin lowered the bouquet to the ground and set it gently down on the wet grass. When he stood back up, the fog was nearly gone, and sunlight seemed to finally be peeking out from behind a covering of clouds. 

Bertrand hadn’t died with the knowledge that anyone would remember or care about him. It terrified Martin. His _mother_ terrified Martin. But, even if you died without family or friends, someone remembers your name- at least for a little while. At least, Martin hoped that was the case, because it made him dread the future a bit less. 

Jon quietly cleared his throat. “Are you ready to leave, or- do you- uh, still need more time?”

With a true smile on his face for the first time in hours, Martin nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready to go.”

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-11/30-  
  


_lesbians with swords_

**spider bitch:** Guys

 **spider bitch** : Guys.

 **me** : yeah??

 **spider bitch** : I’ve found some important information and it must be shared

 **perryromaniac** : the name of the chat is inaccurate. i’ve never had a sword.

 **janey** : then stop being a pussy and acquire a sword, jude

 **perryromaniac** : How about you stop being a pussy and GET some pussy

 **janey** : :((((

 **me** : jesus, jude, you know she’s sensitive

 **spider bitch** : LISTEN

 **spider bitch** : IT’S ABOUT SIMS

 **perryromaniac** : ...Interesting.

 **spider bitch** : Our beloved Mr. Sims is… (pause for dramatic tension)

 **janey** : oh my god is he a lesbian

 **me** : i’m very much certain that sims is a man

 **janey** : men can be lesbians too? idk

 **spider bitch** : He’s In A Band

 **perryromaniac** : what.

 **spider bitch** : I stumbled upon their Bandcamp!! Not even that well hidden!!! And he’s the LEAD SINGER

 **me** : holy shit. our dear jonathan sims is the singer in a band?? Incredible

 **spider bitch** : Yes they are called The Mechanisms and I’ve never enjoyed anything more

 **janey** : ..i just found them and sims can actually sing. like really well????

 **spider bitch** : EYELINER PICTURE EYELINER PICTURE

[ **spider bitch** sent an image link]

 **me** : i am sobbing this is even better than the time that we found mr. banks’ grindr account

 **spider bitch** : And then we catfished him as Cthulhu!

 **perryromaniac** : haha that’s some nerd shit.

 **janey** : we are nerds!!

 **perryromaniac** : ew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you all so much for reading! it's kind of crazy that i've written over 80k of this story now? taking the word 'slow burn' and pulling it to an extreme lmao. but really, thank you all so much, because i probably wouldn't have gotten past 20k without your amazing comments and words of support. you really are the reason i can keep getting these chapters now  
> also, i hope y'all remember the cthulu thing from before. my dumb ass NEVER introduces stupid shit into this story without following through and now y'all have that information about the spooky lesbians lmao  
> i have fun things planned for december, so stay tuned!! i'm sure you know this by now, but stay funky and stay fresh. Yeehaw


	22. 12/05-06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when did we get to fucking d e c e m b e r how did this happen??? how am i at like 87k???? this is what happens when a global pandemic hits. i decide to write a novel length high school magnus archives fanfiction and like sure why not

-Agnes Montague-

-12/05-

Agnes relished the early, crisp days of December. She’d never been a fan of heavy snowfall- sheets of snow and ice on the ground only made her frustrated. But when the dewy grass hardened and froze overnight, or a light dusting of snow decorated the landscape, she loved the crunch of it beneath her feet. She loved leaving the house in a heavy coat and seeing her breath in front of her. As a child, she would breath out in a wide circular arc, pretending to be a fierce dragon. She’d be lying if she claimed not to still do it sometimes when alone. 

As much as she loved the crunch of a light snow, though, she despised the cold. Heat worked far better for her. The ideal season for Agnes would be snowfall in searing heat, white dust on the ground but a shimmer over the pavement. These things, however, were not possible. 

Agnes had viewed December as a magical month for a large part of her life. It felt to her like truly the most wonderful time of the year. However, as she grew and spent more time on social media, dissecting the systems she’d unwillingly been forced to participate in, she also gained a distaste for the sensationalization of Christmas. 

Christmas only bore significance to one religious group. And yet, the decorations and general holiday spirit bled into every other aspect of life. Somehow, capitalist and consumerist glorification had turned Christmas into an event that everyone was forced to participate in, in  _ some  _ way or another. 

All she wanted was to enjoy the snow, really. Agnes thought of these things as she stepped out of the auditorium, fresh from a conversation with Mr. Sims concerning these same opinions. They agreed on many of these views. 

Gearing up for the high stakes, larger county quiz bowl tournament, Sims had increased their practices to include one more practice day after school. Instead of asking James to rework some of her PanoptiCoffee schedule or request a day off from drama rehearsal, she’d decided to just…  _ not.  _ She made it work, bolting between all of her after school engagements and staying up to finish homework until one or two in the morning most nights. She, as she told herself, could manage it all just fine. 

Nearly with a headache after their draining ACC practice, Annabelle and Agnes left the auditorium together. They thankfully had a few extra minutes today before their work shift started, and used this time to regroup against the brick wall of the school. 

Annabelle turned to Agnes, leaning one shoulder on the wall. “Sims seemed in a good mood today, right?” she asked. 

Agnes nodded. “Who knows why- but yeah. A good enough mood to even keep up with Michael’s antics.”

“What are they even talking about in there?” Annabelle asked, peering through the window of the door to the auditorium. The room had one exit to the outside of the school. “I said I’d wait for him so we could all walk to the shop together.”

“Probably drilling him about how he treats Gerry,” Agnes laughed. 

“Pretty well, in my opinion.”

Agnes turned to see a familiar goth in front of her, smirking in his dark lipstick. Next to him, more unexpectedly, was Jude. “Jude- what, uh, what are you doing here?” Agnes asked. Jude hadn’t been planning to meet with them after practice, or at least Agnes didn’t know about it. She was, however, happy about the other’s slight assimilation into their friend group. The chat seemed to help- but Jane and Annabelle still had their obvious reservations, Annabelle much more vocally. All in time. 

Jude smiled and crossed her arms. Her and Gerry’s blossoming friendship made a little too much sense. “Met with Mr. Blackwood again in the library and bumped into this little shit,” she said, pushing Gerry on the arm. Gerry raised his eyebrows.

“You’re about a head shorter than me, Jude,” he said, neglecting the heavy black platforms he wore. 

Jude shrugged. “And yet I could still pummel you- if I wanted.”

Agnes turned as the door to the auditorium squeaked open, heavy on its rusted hinges- nothing at Magnus was exactly  _ new.  _ She hoped to see Michael, but was instead greeted with the annoying sight of Jack. Some days, he didn’t even make an effort to bother her. He hadn’t during ACC practice. Hopefully, their group of four would deter him. 

He sidled up to Agnes, who stood the furthest out of their small group. Still, the others took obvious notice, with Jude already opening and closing a tense fist. 

“You were- uh, you did really great today in ACC,” he said quietly.

Agnes sighed. “Thanks, Jack.”

“You have work today, right?” he asked. “Maybe I could come with you guys- um, buying something, of course?”

She leaned back against the brick wall, more in an attempt to separate himself from him than relax. “I- how did you even know that?”

He shrugged with far too much nonchalance. “Just, uh, no reason. But can I come?”

“No- no, what?” She shook her head. “No, that’s so weird,  _ don’t  _ come with us, okay?”

“Are you sure, because-”

Jack was interrupted mid sentence by a strong hand on his shirt collar, and then he was shoved up against the wall in a blur of motion. Agnes jumped and stepped away from the hard brick. She froze, watching Jude trap him with one arm against the wall, a predatory look in her eyes. She exchanged a glance with Annabelle.

Jude breathed in and out heavily. “Don’t fucking try that shit again. She said  _ no _ . ”

The terrified look in Jack’s eyes would’ve been enough punishment for Agnes, whose anger was so suppressed in her that she barely felt it. But Jude didn’t seem to have the same opinion. “You don’t have your big sophomore friend  _ now,  _ do you?”

Her fist clenched tighter and her elbow started moving back, revving up for something bigger. WIthout speaking, Annabelle and Agnes grabbed Jude’s shoulders and hauled her away from Jack. It was surprisingly difficult to force away such a small person, but Jude wriggled against them, her arms twisting and contorting as she cursed.

They struggled to keep her in place, even as she began to calm down. Annabelle breathed heavily from the effort. “Jack,  _ leave,  _ yeah?”

With himself still pressed against the wall, Jack nodded and then tore away from their group. His sneakers pounded on the sidewalk and his backpack bounced as he ran toward the corner of the building. Agnes looked to Gerry, who hadn’t spoken the whole time, and let go of Jude’s shoulder. 

“Should’ve let her fuck him up,” Gerry said, arms crossed. He looked at Jude with approval.

As Jack neared the corner, Michael stepped out from the lobby exit to the school. Jack didn’t slow down and swerved around him, while Michael just sidestepped away with a strange look. He continued walking to the group. 

Against the grey sky and old bricks, Michael looked like a pop of color in a black-and-white photograph. Agnes gave him a small wave as he approached. 

“I feel like whatever just happened was certainly connected to you,” Michael said, glancing in the direction that Jack had just disappeared from. 

Jude huffed. “Yeah, they didn’t let me give what was coming to him.” She glared at Agnes and Annabelle. 

“Anyway-” Gerry said, slotting in next to Michael as the group began to move along the payment- “what, um, what took you so long in ACC?”

Michael smiled, a wonderful but almost hypnotic sight. “Ah, nothing of much importance. Just speaking to Sims.”

Agnes tuned out of their conversation as she crossed the group to Jude, whose demeanor toed the line to sulking. Agnes touched her shoulder lightly. “Thank you. For being willing to- to do that for me.”

“Then why couldn’t I have?” Jude asked. She didn’t move from under Agnes’s touch. 

“You would’ve been suspended for fighting on school property!” 

Jude shrugged. “It’s happened before, you know.”

“Okay but,  _ I  _ didn’t want that to happen,” Agnes said, taking her hand away and staring at the ground. “And besides- they might even expel you at this point. It just wouldn't have been good, yeah?”

“You’re probably right. But that kid just won’t learn his fucking lesson,” Jude said. 

Agnes noticed the glance Annabelle threw behind her shoulder from up ahead of the, but she didn’t say anything. Agnes had no idea if this would help or hurt the already rocky relationship between those two friends. 

“Let’s just- forget about it, okay,” Agnes said. 

Jude nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” She checked her phone and then slipped it back into her pocket. “I should probably go, actually.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Agnes asked. “For drama, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll see you,” Jude said, and then stepped off the pavement and into the parking lot, walking off to the right of the group. Agnes sighed and watched her leave.

Annabelle fell into step beside her. “Well  _ that  _ was a lot,” she laughed. “I told you she’d do some weird shit at some point.”

“At least she was willing to stick up for me.”

There was silence between the two of them before Annabelle spoke again. “What, do you want me to just deck everyone we don’t like?”

“No!” Agnes said, searching for the right words. She couldn’t find them. “No, I just- it was nice, I guess. That she was willing to do that.”

Annabelle pressed her lips together. “I thought we were only giving Jude one more chance, and that she couldn’t be friends with us if she went and did that kind of thing. Are we forgetting all about that?”

“You’re really not willing to let it go?” Agnes asked. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to get tangled in all of Jude’s shit- any of us.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-12/06-

Martin didn’t have as much free time during school hours these days. He hadn’t even come to the teacher’s lounge to eat lunch for weeks. Once a week, he ran book club during lunch, shifting it from advisory because more and more students came to his room at that time. At some point, the students had decided to trust him and started grouping in his room, which he enjoyed (even if it meant less time to play Mechs music and grade assignments). 

Today, though, he had nothing much to do during lunch, and decided to finally go back to the lounge. He was far too excited for it. The lounge was where he’d first met almost all of his now best friends- it meant something to him, even if that first meeting had only been about three months prior. It felt like a lifetime to him. 

He pulled up a chair to where Tim, Melanie, Jon, Daisy, Basira, and Sasha sat, their chairs spread out around the table and pushed slightly away in order to accommodate them all. He smiled as he sat down- next to Jon. But after their hours spent together, pouring over his novel and often branching out into other conversation, doing so didn’t make him quite as nervous. . “Hey guys.”

Tim’s face brightened. “Mart-o! You’re joining us today!”

Martin chuckled at the endearing nickname, which he still had an edge of dislike for. “Um- yeah! I’m, uh, not that busy today.”

“Wonderful you’re here, Martin,” Sasha said. She turned to Daisy and Basira on the other side of the table. “What were you saying, Basira?”

Martin let himself mold into their group like usual, opening up his lunch bag and listening to whatever they’d been talking about before. He thought Jon may have glanced at him from the side, but couldn’t be sure. They didn’t say hello, but somehow still acknowledged each other’s presence. 

“Well, since we were both planning to propose,” Basira said, fidgeting with the silver ring on her finger, “we already were each thinking about the wedding. We don’t want to wait very long.” She looked over to Daisy, a small, content smile on her face. Martin could tell they would marry each other that instant if they could. 

Daisy jumped in to speak. “So we’re for sure having a small wedding- very small. Neither of us are really…  _ in contact  _ with our families, so we’re mostly inviting you guys.”

“And a few people we used to work with on the force,” Basira added. “Also a couple friends I’ve made from my mosque- but that’s it, really.”

“We’re thinking February or March?” Daisy said, glancing to Basira for confirmation. She nodded. 

Melanie raised her eyebrows. “Damn. That  _ is  _ fast.”

Daisy grimaced slightly, as if to say  _ we know.  _

“Not to, you know, pressure y’all or anything, but do you have plans for the wedding party yet?” Tim asked, popping one of Sasha’s grapes in his mouth nonchalantly. She made an offended face and stole the baggy away from him. 

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tim, you’re going to be my best man- christ, fuck you.”

“Thank… you?” Tim furrowed his brows and tilted his head, but a smile still spread across his face. “Fuck you, I’d be honored.”

Basira cleared her throat. “Oh and, uh, Melanie- I’d love for you to be my… best woman, I assume?”

Melanie reacted in a far less conflicted way, reaching across the table to embrace Basira in an unexpected hug. Neither had ever seemed to be hug types, but Melanie did it almost automatically, brimming with joy. “Yes, I- of course!” They separated, with Basira almost brushing herself off from the interaction. Melanie calmed herself down quickly. “I would really love that.”

“We have the same friend groups, so we’re sharing the rest of the wedding party,” Daisy said. “Sasha, we’d love for you to be there, alone with a couple people we used to work with at the station. And Jon, would you be the flower boy?”

Everyone looked at Jon, who sat in his chair, wordless and taken aback. He shook himself out of his surprise and leaned forward. “I- what?”

Daisy snorted. “Nah, I was just fucking with you dude, we also want you with the rest of the wedding party.”

“Martin, you’re invited of course, we just wanted to include the people we’ve known the longest,” Basira said, far too apologetic for Martin’s taste. He jumped in to reassure her. 

“No, I- I understand! I get that, and I’ll be happy to be there,” he said.

“Thank you, then. And we don’t want any bachelorette parties or a shower or anything- all we want to do is get married with our friends around us,” Basira added, to Daisy’s agreement. 

Daisy nodded. “You don’t have to get us anything, you’ve seen our house, we’re fine,” she laughed. “And we’re on a teacher’s salary, so we can’t do a very  _ lavish  _ wedding anyway.

As often happened at these group lunches, the conversation branched off into different smaller groups, Daisy and Basira discussing something while Melanie, Tim, and Sasha spoke as well. Martin and Jon were left to eat in silence.

Because of his busier schedule in school hours, and a cancellation of their last meeting at PanoptiCoffee, Martin hadn’t had a chance to really talk with Jon since the cemetery. They’d said hello in passing, but Martin was burning to mention it since that day, and hadn’t been given the chance. He steeled himself now to do so. 

“Jon, uh, hi,” Martin said, turning to the other man. Jon looked up from his phone and to Martin. 

“Ah- hello. How, uh, how are you?” Jon asked. He shifted in his seat and put a forearm on the table. 

Martin would, of course, answer this question with ‘good.’ And that was probably right. During school and when seeing his friends, Martin felt fine. He’d forget about his mother and Bertrand and the fog that clouded his mind some nights. He could push it away. But when he did that, pushing it down and down into him, Martin could feel it build. The fog restlessly grew thicker and stronger in the pit of his stomach and at some point- it had to go somewhere. 

“Good,” Martin answered. “I- um, I just wanted to say- thank you.”

Jon bit his lip. “Sorry- for what, exactly?”

“For- for coming to the cemetery. For helping me out. I know we haven’t really, uh, gotten a chance to  _ talk  _ or anything since then, and it was so out of your way and everything and I felt really bad that you had to do that so I just wanted to- I just wanted to say- thank you,” he said, cursing himself for rambling. 

A smile tugged at the edges of Jon’s lips. “You didn’t ask me to do that, Martin.”

“Yeah but- I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Jon said, turning back to his food. It looked to be leftover pasta packed in tupperware. A warmth ran through Martin as he imagined Jon cooking in his flat, and all the little mannerisms he had yet to see of the other man. Was he the type to play music as he cooked, dancing through whatever his kitchen looked like and humming along? Or did he focus intently, trying to be perfect? All Martin wanted to do was find out. “It- it wasn’t  _ that  _ out of my way. I, uh, I would’ve done it for anyone.”

Martin nodded. “Right, right, yeah, me too, it’s- yeah.” 

Martin was startled by a chair dragging on the tile floor behind him. He turned to see Oliver sitting down, a few feet behind the two of them, the back of his chair against the next table over from theirs. Oliver nodded at them. “Hi Jon- and Martin.”

Waving a small hello, Martin greeted him in return. Jon just pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his long hair. “You guys alright?” Oliver asked. 

“Just, uh, just peachy!” Martin said. He wondered if this sounded sarcastic- he really wasn’t trying to be. Or was he? At some point, he just couldn’t tell. 

Oliver leaned forward, his head away from Martin. Jon was staring at his food, not making a sound. “Jon- really, are you okay?” Oliver asked. 

Flinching, Jon shoved his half-eaten container of pasta into his bag. “Sorry, I just- I just need a cigarette,” he said. Before either of them could react, Jon was shouldering his satchel and out of the door to the break room, a few wild strands of graying hair the last thing Martin could see before he was gone.

Oliver grimaced. If the others at their table noticed Jon’s exit, they didn’t mention it. “Wow, okay- what was that about?” he asked. 

“Maybe you scared him off,” Martin said with a laugh. Upon seeing Oliver’s concerned face, he stopped smiling. “Sorry.”

Sighing, Oliver took Jon’s place at the table, both of them knowing he wouldn’t be returning before the end of their lunch break. He took out a bag and some food from inside. “Do you think it was my fault? Did I say something wrong?”

Hearing his frustrated voice, Martin felt a little bad rooting against the poor guy. But not quite bad enough. “I don’t know- probably not.”

“He just seems so  _ distant  _ lately- I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, you know?” Oliver paused. “Sorry, you really didn’t ask, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

As much as Martin wouldn’t say it aloud, he appreciated knowing this information. Oliver was a nice person, really- and undoubtedly incredibly hot. Chiseled jawline, striking features, flawless dark skin. Martin couldn’t find a reason why Jon wouldn’t go all in on  _ that.  _ “It’s- it’s alright. I get it.”

He  _ did  _ get it. Martin understood the distance and the confusion. His mind played back to October, when weeks had gone by without Jon so much as saying a word to him. He remembered that it had all started with the pep rally- the damn pep rally, when all he’d try to do was help. When Jon had asked about why he cared so much, and Martin didn’t have an answer. 

Thankfully, Jon didn’t seem to be so distant anymore. He’d even driven to the cemetery of his own volition, going out of his way to buy flowers. But Martin couldn’t help himself from wondering; what had changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao me writing 'i would've done that for anyone' haha no you wouldn't gayboy  
> anyway, thank you for reading! jude is a bitch and i love her. same goes for annabelle and a little bit gerry. i love my kids and so do these fuckin teachers  
> i've got some fun things to come for the rest of december!! and also some less fun things but like hey i swear it'll all be fine!!   
> me realizing i kind of have to plan a whole ass daisira wedding: 👁👄👁  
> love y'all and i love y'all's comments. you're all the best. it's christmas let's go home. stay Funky stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	23. 12/09-13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided to plan the daisira with about as much effort as if it was a real wedding. it's not. it's really not. but i love them too much to put any less effort in. that has nothing to do with the chapter i just really like what i have planned lmao

-Martin Blackwood-

-12/09-

With droplets of rain splattering onto his coat, soaking him deeper every second he was outside, Martin jogged down the last stretch of sidewalk. He hugged his jacket closer to his chest and tilted his head down in an attempt to stay drier. Out of all days, today was not the one to arrive looking like a soggy mess. 

Martin opened the door to the warm and inviting PanoptiCoffee. In the chilly rain of an English December, it stood with yellow lights and thriving plants in the windows, welcoming him in with outstretched arms. He breathed a sigh of relief once in the warmth and quiet of the shop. A glance at the other side of the room told him that Jon had already arrived, one knee pulled to his chest in their usual spot. 

In front of the canvas of grey sky and rain running down the windows, Jon’s head angled down to look at a notebook. His hair piled in a messy bun and with an intense expression, he highlighted something with the edge of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. As much as he knew he couldn’t, Martin felt an urge to remain watching him from the door. 

Alas, he did not do this. One more shiver ran down Martin’s spine from the dampness of his coat as he crossed the room. Still focused, Jon didn’t look up at him until they were only feet apart. 

“Martin, you’re- you’re uh, you’re here,” Jon said, blinking a few times as if waking up. Martin smiled sheepishly.

“Indeed I am.” He shrugged off his coat, holding it away from himself as it dripped, before draping it on the back of his chair. He sat down and noticed something he hadn’t before. “Uh- what’s this?”

Martin wrapped his hand around a warm coffee cup. It alleviated some of the leftover chill. 

Jon looked down at the table, something he did often. “Since I got here first, I took the liberty to… order your usual- The Void drink, I believe? I uh- I hope that’s alright,” he said, speaking quietly by the end. 

Martin took a sip from the cup, letting the warmth run through him like an embrace. “Thank you, Jon.”

Biting his lower lip, Jon shrugged. “It’s- it’s nothing, I just-” he cleared his throat- “were you able to look at the last chapter I sent you?”

It was all that Martin expected of Jon to brush off his own generosity. He’d been on the recieving end of such kindness before, and Jon did his absolute best to avoid the subject afterward. Even if Jon didn’t care to acknowledge it, though, Martin still appreciated his efforts, and tried to convey this the best he could through some weird mix of facial expressions and impossible telepathy. This obviously did not work. 

“I did,” Martin said, on the edge of a laugh. “Before I talk about anything else you wrote- how is it that you know  _ so much  _ about D&D?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, pulling his leg closer. “Well, if I’m being honest, I had quite the- affinity- for the game in uni. I only know what I do about 5th edition because of Gerry, though.” Jon scanned Martin’s face up and down. “Are you… familiar?”

Martin smiled, a teasing gleam in his eye. “Oh, I’m more of a Pathfinder person,” he said. He only barely caught the disapproving look Jon gave him. “What, are you a Dungeons and Dragons purist?”

The edges of his lips close to curling upward, Jon shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I would honestly be remiss not to say that D&D is better. And I  _ do _ mean disrespect.”

Martin feigned shock. “ _ Excuse me?  _ I come here, through the cold and the rain, with so much dedication in my heart, just to have Pathfinder insulted to my face? Appalling, Jon. Truly appalling.”

There was no hiding Jon’s smug smile now. “Well, you know, I  _ did  _ buy you that coffee.”

Martin’s retort, meant to be scathing, quickly dissolved into laughter on both of their parts, far too much of it for the previous conversation, but something about the coffee and the lights and the stares other people gave them- and Jon’s face- caused it to come spilling out of him. He didn’t mind it, laughing over fake arguments with Jon in a cozy coffee shop. 

They finally calmed down, Martin wiping a nearly formed tear from his eye. He took a sip of his drink and opened his bag, reaching in to find the papers he’d brought. He thumbed through them, looking for the right page. “So, Gerry plays D&D?”

Jon nodded. “He won’t admit it to anyone at school for some reason, but yes, he DMs for a group of teenagers he met at a board game store nearby. I’ve been around for a few of his sessions- he’s quite good, really. Refuses to take my advice, though.”

“Isn’t that how the students always are?” Martin asked. He found the right page of notes, slipping them out from the stack. He frowned at a small blotch of rainwater on it. “Although you and Gerry don’t seem to just be a teacher and student.”

“I couldn’t even imagine that,” Jon said, a subtle fondness creeping into his voice. 

“Would it be weird if I said it’s- I don’t know, a-adorable? I just… wouldn’t have expected you to, you know. Care like that about a student.”

Jon paused, worrying at his bottom lip again. Martin couldn’t help but feel concerned for that damn lip- must’ve been fairly beat up from Jon’s abuse. “We’ve had- similar life experiences. I, ah, I mentioned that before I believe, but- well. I’ve always believed I can help him. He’s… well, he’s gone through what I did, in a lot of ways, with his parents, his interests, his- gender. I don’t think anyone else could understand like I do.”

Martin nodded, not wishing to make Jon elaborate further if he didn’t want to. He’d known for a while that Gerry was trans, reassuring the boy one time after class when he came up to Martin after class to make sure that he’d use the right pronouns. He’d always suspected it to be another thing Jon and Gerry had in common, and it obviously didn’t change anything. Martin still had those cliche butterflies in his stomach whenever he drank coffee across the table from Jon. 

They’d lapsed into a weighted silence, and Martin searched for something to fill it. “Did- did uh, Gerry tell you if the GSA reached their fundraising goal from the poetry and performance night? I don’t think I ever heard,” he said. 

Jon shook his head. “Gerry never mentioned it, but Oliver told me they got close, at least enough for a meeting with the Board.”

That comment was enough to send Martin back to multiple days earlier, when Oliver talked to Jon and he immediately left to go ‘have a cigarette.’ They hadn’t been able to talk since that lunch break. Over those three days, the question burned in Martin’s mind, far more than it should have been. He’d considered texting Jon to ask it- less confrontational that way- but with the situation present in his mind, Martin could no longer go without knowing. 

“Are you and Oliver together?” Martin blurted out. 

Jon blinked, seemingly taken aback by this sudden question. “I- sorry, what?”

Fear gnawing in his chest, Martin only dug himself deeper. “I- sorry, I just- I heard you two had been something over the summer and I honestly couldn’t tell if that was still a thing or not I’ve just been curious and you really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to it’s alright I under-” 

Jon cut off his ramblings. “Martin.”

“...Yeah?”

“It’s fine.”

Martin exhaled a sigh of relief, his hand tensely clutching the nearly empty coffee cup. “Oh.”

“To answer your- your question, no, we are not… together.” He paused. “And I don’t plan to be,” he said pointedly, making more eye contact than he usually would. Martin locked eyes with him, before breaking away and nodding. 

“Okay. Right. Sorry, I- thank you. It’s not really any of my business anyway, is it?” Martin stammered, trying to suppress the telling smile that was about to form on his face. He struggled to keep it away, feeling heat in his cheeks. 

Jon flipped to a different page in his notebook. “We should really get started.”

“For sure,” Martin said, leaning forward and attentive. A warmth ran through him, and not just because of the coffee. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-12/13-

Agnes’s heart thumped in unison with the ticking of a clock nearby. Every room that Mr. Bouchard entered, even when crowded, had a distinct tick and tock in the air. It was as if just his presence reminded Agnes of time slipping away. 

Considering that he probably spent many hours in the meeting room at Magnus, this room was no exception. She also noticed incessant eye motifs around them; carved into the sleek wooden table, above the door, etched into the necklace around his neck. 

She’d always assumed this to be the product of strange old symbols of their school. The Magnus Memorial logo depicted an owl, one with piercing green eyes. Parts of the building hadn’t been truly renovated since their establishment, maybe with replaced wiring and windows but not actually  _ changed.  _ And because of this, she noticed more and more eyes carved deep into old wood every year she attended. It creeped her out when she remembered to be bothered by it. 

However, at the moment, she had much more to be bothered by. Her seat at the long meeting table was directly opposed by an older white man in a cable knit sweater, his hands folded and his stare intense. She shivered under it. Four more men sat with him- one of them Mr. Bouchard, sitting back with an unnecessarily smug grin. His twink vibes were only accentuated by the older men around him, each at least fifty. 

Agnes took comfort in the people she came with. Beside her, Mr. Banks stared with an equally intense gaze at the men, his jaw clenched and angular. Julia, Jane, and Annabelle were on their side of the table as well- Mr. Banks had decided to only let upperclassmen into the meeting, considering that they didn’t want too many people. This resulted in five members from each group, the GSA across from the Board. 

“We understand you’ve raised about a fourth of the funds necessary for your project,” one of them said, a man Agnes hadn’t spoken to before- one Mr. Smirke. Apparently he was the grandson of the architect who’d worked along with Jonah Magnus to design their school. It didn’t make Agnes like him any more, though. 

Mr. Banks nodded, about to add onto that, but another Board member spoke before he could. “How exactly do we know you’ll collect the rest in time? We can hardly hire a contractor or crew without the money to pay them,” said Mr. Fairchild. Agnes resisted her impulse to scoff at his fashion choice of a striped shirt, suspenders, and a boater hat. This was only what could be seen above the table. 

“We have more plans for fundraising events to come- including one at the shop PanoptiCoffee nearby. We’re just about ready to launch an online crowdfunding campaign, and we’ll accept any donations given to us, as well as about to negotiate with the drama directors about putting ads for donations in the programs for this year’s show and taking a small amount of ticket profit,” Mr. Banks said. He had one hand laid on the binder containing all their plans and information, set protectively in front of Agnes. 

Agnes cleared her throat. “Um- the Academic Competition Club has also agreed to donate any winnings from competitions.” She made sure to say this loudly, but the men across the table still barely paid attention to her. 

“We understand,” Mr. Closen said, seated to the left of Smirke. “But this school has maintained its original structure since 1818, including the layout of washrooms. Why now would we forsake tradition and historic excellence? Male and female bathrooms are the way this building was created. I see no reason to change this.”

Next to Agnes, Annabelle slammed her hands on the table as if to push off of it and stand, but Agnes knew her too well- she put a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, keeping her in place. Agnes herself fought to control the anger writhing inside her. Still, as she’d done before, she molded the anger into articulation. 

“Mr. Closen, with- with all due respect, that’s a common argument against progress! Just because something is the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean it’s the right way. Society had grown and elvolved and we must do so with it. Besides, if you read our plans for this bathroom, it would be a renovation of already existing binary bathrooms- so there would be no real sacrifice to the integrity of the building,” Agnes said. Annabelle pushed the binder forward to the other side of the table, and Mr. Banks nodded at Agnes in approval. 

“We personally know multiple people who would benefit from this change,” Julia said. Agnes looked over at her, surprised by her speaking. “And there would be so many more in the future. We’re asking, do you want this school to be ready for the next generations that are entering it?”

Mr. Bouchard raised an eyebrow, his face otherwise lacking emotion. Agnes had to remind herself that punching him would  _ not  _ be conducive to their cause. She wondered what would’ve happened if Jude were in the meeting with them. 

“We understand, we  _ truly _ do, but I fail to see how such accommodations would be assisting this particular student demographic,” Mr. Bouchard said. Agnes narrowed her eyes- no, he did not understand. He  _ truly  _ didn’t. 

Rubbing her temple, Agnes took the binder back and flipped it to their typed page of statistics, as well as multiple articles confirming their points. They had a long way to go. 

The door to the office clicked shut, Agnes the last of their group to leave. She held the binder tight against her chest. 

Michael and Gerry, leaning both against each other and the wall, stood up straight at the sight of the five of them in the hallway. Nikola appeared from around a corner- Agnes swore she was already in the hallway with them, but then she came around the corner, moving stiffly. Agnes looked away from her. Staring at Nikola for too long would only confuse you, like how doing so with Michael often caused a headache. 

“How did it go?” Michael asked, his head cocked slightly to the side. 

Mr. Banks stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “Well, it was a rough start-”

“The whole thing was rough,” Annabelle muttered. 

“Okay, yes, they  _ did  _ try everything they could to discredit our research and plans- but by the end,” he said, letting a smile onto his face, “they agreed to work with us! Hopefully, they told us, we’d get a contractor for work in the summer.”

Annabelle and Jane hugged Agnes from the side, each of them smiling. The others in their group celebrated similarly. This was a victory, and it meant even more than the project itself. 

When they’d finished, giddily happy and closer in an almost-circle, Mr. Banks took a deep breath and looked at each of them. “But there’s more to be done. We’ve got some hard work ahead of us, yeah?”

Agnes nodded. In this moment of triumph, she’d wanted to forget about every other responsibility she had. The reminder of hours of AP homework to do later that night blared in her head like a siren. She’d only wanted a moment to forget about that, rejoice in their prevailing efforts, but she knew this to be unrealistic.

Mr. Banks was right- they had even more work ahead, and Agnes was ready to tackle it. With everything else going on in her life, it would be difficult, but nothing amazing can start off easy. She knew this fact well. At least she had close friends to do the work with, and at least she had Jude- who she couldn’t wait to text about their victory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip oliver i love u darling. someday in the future i WILL write a jon/oliver fic,,, weird underappreciated but also no canon basis ship that i love. jonmartin reigns supreme but... oliver banks deserves love too folks. my favorite death gay boy  
> anyway, thank you for reading! as always!! there's some stuff i'm cutting from this month so it might be tiny tiny bit shorter than i expected, but i promise good content to come regardless. wow can't believe january in the magnus memorial world will already be year [redacted] in the town [redacted] how incredible  
> love y'all <3 love y'all's comments <333 stay Funky and ohhhh stay Fresh!! Yeehaw


	24. 12/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but i've been a little busier than usual the past few days- my parent and I just moved into a new apartment and i have more dance classes than before- but i figure getting something out is better than nothing!! plus, i'm really excited for the next chapter and i wanted to make it as long as i needed to without another section to increase the word count

-Agnes Montague-

-12/21-

“Ugh.  _ Fuck _ .”

As Annabelle leaned back on her hands, shoulders caved in. She was looking at the door of the auditorium, which had just clacked open. Agnes faced the wings and had no idea what her friend complained about. Jane, sitting next to each other, seemed to feel the same, and exchanged an odd glance with Agnes. 

Jude stared at the door with a narrow gaze. This is what caused Agnes to turn around and look over her shoulder. Down, standing by the walls of the audience section, were the crew. And Maxwell was with them. 

In their month and a half of rehearsing so far, the cast had been lucky enough to not interact with the crew. Throughout her time in drama, Agnes had been friends with many of the people working tech or backstage- she didn’t think them to inherently be annoying. But this year, when Sergey, Maxwell, and Ryan walked into the auditorium for their first practice together, she had no hopes for this to be enjoyable. 

Agnes stood herself up off the stage with a bit of an ache where she’d been sitting on the hard stage floor. “This is going to suck, isn’t it?” She stretched out her hip with slight difficulty. 

“We’ll… give them a chance?” Jane asked tentatively, casting a nervous sideways glance to the group of boys in the audience. 

Jude opened her mouth, but Georgie clapped her hands from the front of the stage, effectively interrupting her. The cast gathered to hear what she had to say- Amherst was out for the day, and so Georgie had taken over rehearsal. 

“Right,” she started, hands on her hips. She’d pulled her hair back with a thick headband, keeping it out of the way, and resulting in a mass of lustrous spirals haloing around the back of her head. As much as she didn’t condone it, Agnes recognized exactly why Annabelle had  _ somewhat  _ of an attraction for the woman. “I know this is our first practice with the crew, but let’s review the first scene we just learned from the second act, and then run the first act with crew backstage.”

Agnes cleared off the stage and into the wings. Michael, Jane, Mike, and the ensemble took their places, with Jane and Mike staring intensely at each other. Jude was included in the ensemble, as close to the wings as she could be. She didn’t seem one to like the attention of theatre- it made Agnes question why she’d joined in the first place. Perhaps, at some point, she would ask. 

Halfway through their run of the first act, Georgie paused the music, and Agnes stood on the side of the stage, panting after a more intense song. She couldn’t  _ wait  _ to get down into the audience and drink some water. 

Thankfully, Georgie spotted this hope in most of the cast, and hopped up onto the edge of the stage from where the orchestra pit would soon be. She took a glance at her phone. “It’s 4:48 now- so at 4:55, I want everyone back in the auditorium, yeah? Go have a drink and go to the bathroom,” she said. Agnes nodded and, along with the others, rushed off the stage to get to her thermos. 

She pushed down the red, tearing fabric of the seat, and downed half of her water battle in one long sip. A weight fell on her shoulder from next to her- Annabelle. 

“You sounded great in the last song we did,” Annabelle said, her head nestled into the crook between Agnes’s chin and chest. 

“You too. Just a couple of sexy moms up there, huh?”

“I think the ‘M’ in ‘MILF’ should stand for Morticia.”

A row back from them, Jude sat in her regular spot, sideways in her chair. One leg dangled off the amrest. The other stretched to the ground, shaped muscles accented by dark red jeans. “That was questionable.”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Well am I  _ wrong _ ?”

From the front of the auditorium, the doors closed loudly with a metallic clang. Agnes, like always, checked for a brief moment to see who had left. Maxwell's large figure stood on the other side, remaining there only for a moment before turning to walk away. Agnes had only noticed a few disparaging looks from him, but no comments. She’d expected at least a bit of harassment following Jude’s near-assault on Jack only a couple weeks earlier. But, to her surprise- nothing. 

Jane sat down next to Agnes, rolling her head to stretch it out. “ _ Pulled  _ always makes my vocal chords want to retire,” she sighed. 

Annabelle nodded. “Amen to that.”

Hearing a groan from behind, Agnes turned to see Jude standing up. “What time is it now?” she asked. 

Agnes glanced at the clock in the auditorium. “4:51.”

“Right, if I’m not back in time, tell Georgie I’m in the bathroom,” Jude said. They agreed, so she slipped by a few other cast members talking in the aisle and out the door. 

Annabelle picked her head up off of Agnes and held it in her palms, rubbing the sides of her face. “Fuck, we should practice that ridiculous step before we start again, shouldn’t we,” she said, trailing off with a bit of a groan. 

Agnes leaned back in her seat, her head looking upwards. There was a light pat on the shoulder from Jane. “I mean. Yeah. Ew. But yeah.”

Within moments, they’d made their way to the front of the auditorium, practicing right next to the stage. They were only feet away from the door, but nobody seemed to want to leave. Agnes started with her foot just behind her ankle. “Alright- on a 5, 6, 7, 8.”

She continued to count for their group as they jumped out into a wider position, an arm up and then an arm down, a snap in what they called the ‘Gomez’ position, a kick, a turn, a kick, then a repeat of the first section, before switching into a high releve, then a different turn, and a slide across the stage to switch lines. Agnes knew that none of the steps were particularly difficult themselves, but she messed up their connections every time. 

Well, every time except  _ this time.  _ She smiled as things went better than usual. She’d gotten to the releve without anything going wrong, combined with the effort of counting out loud to keep their small group in time. They’d nail it the next time they did it onstage. Unfortunately, before she could complete her sequence of triumph, there was a shout from outside. 

Agnes stopped dead in the middle of her turn. The shout sounded like someone scared. Or in pain. Annabelle and Jane stopped too, each of them looking at the others. No one else in the auditorium seemed to notice it- they’d been standing close enough to the doors to hear the shout. 

The three of them didn’t have to speak to start moving with each other. Agnes opened the door first, leaning her head out to try and see what was happening. Nothing moved in the lobby, but she could hear distinct grunts and loud sounds from the hallway that branched off from it. 

Agnes opened the door fully and let Jane and Annabelle out. Shoulder to shoulder, they treaded lightly to get to the corner. With the pained sounds louder, Agnes stepped out from behind it. Her breath hitched in her throat.

Struggling, arms up against each other, Jude flipped Maxwell down and pushed him to the ground with a heavy  _ thud.  _ He quickly made a move to stand, but Jude kicked him between his legs and Maxwell doubled over in pain. Jude, with an obviously bleeding lip, dropped down beside him and punched his face with a tightly wound fist. Maxwell convulsed, but quickly latched onto her shoulders in an attempt to use his size and weight to flip her onto the ground. Jude held strong, momentarily tipped backwards but regaining her balance and shoving him even harder to the floor. 

Agnes watched it all, frozen in fear, clutching to Annabelle’s arm. 

Jude pummeled him twice more before Agnes remembered how to move. The others reacted the same way, and Annabelle shouted something along the lines of “Oh my god!” before rushing over to them. 

Only now noticing them, Jude snarled up at the three, a steady trail of blood falling from her lower lip. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she growled. 

Maxwell’s eyes pleaded to them for rescue. Even several inches taller and far bulkier than Jude, he’d been pinned down and was losing defiance fast. Jude struck him in the face another time. The flow of blood from his nostrils thickened. 

“Holy  _ fuck,  _ Jude!” Agnes, along with Annabelle grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to pull her off of Maxwell, her arms flailing but missing contact with Maxwell as they successfully dragged her part way back. Jude cursed at them, trying to wriggle out of their tight grasps, but they held her tight a few feet away from where Jane had flown to Maxwell’s side.

Agnes turned away from Jane, who was asking Maxwell questions that Agnes couldn’t hear. Jude fumed and her nostrils flared, but she stopped struggling as soon as it became clear she would have to hurt Agnes to get out of her grasp. 

From a bit away, there was the shuddering sound of someone spitting up blood. Agnes and Annabelle pulled Jude to her feet. “What- what the  _ fuck,  _ Jude?!” Agnes shouted, just inches away from her face. 

Shit. Jude stared at Agnes with an unbridled intensity, her upper lip curling as blood steadily trailed from the lower. The fire in her narrowed eyes didn’t dim. Agnes wanted to be mad at her, upset that she would do something like this- no matter the circumstances- but she couldn’t help the sheer attractiveness of it, with matted hair and her fist hanging limply at her side. The shock of the electricity that ran through her veins at the sight of Jude made her quiet for too long- long enough for the pattering sound of footsteps to be heard from the lobby. 

“Ah hell, what happened here?” Georgie asked, standing in front of the rest of the cast. They watched from the end of the short hallway. For reasons unknown, Agnes clutched onto Jude and stood slightly before her, as if  _ Jude  _ needed protecting. 

As other people crowded around and Georgie knelt beside Maxwell along with Jane, Agnes was pushed to the walls of the hallway, standing in disbelief against a trophy case. She watched Maxwell stagger to his feet. Across from Agnes, Jude stood with her arms crossed, silently brooding. 

“Someone help get Maxwell to the nurse,” Georgie said, strangely calm when two bleeding teenagers glared at each other. Natalie and Manuela rushed forward to loop Maxwell’s arms around them. He even walked with a limp, slowly turning around the corner, and then out of sight. 

Georgie shot a disdainful look to the splatter of blood on the tiled floor where Maxwell had spat it up. She huffed and the turned to address the cast. “That’s- that’s the end of rehearsal for today. Everyone go home- and have a good winter break, okay?” she said, putting on a pained smile at the end. 

Agnes had forgotten- this was the last drama practice before their two week break. What a way to end the year. 

It took a few minutes for everyone to clear out of the hallway and through the doors of the lobby. As they did, Agnes pushed through the people to get to Jude, who still stood against the wall as if nothing happened. “What happened?” she asked, her head shaking slightly. 

Jude bit her bottom lip, and then winced. “I was defending you.”

“I- I wasn’t even  _ here _ !” Agnes said, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“He said some shit about you, and I- I wasn’t about to let him, yeah? Jack, he can’t do shit, he’s annoying but he’s the size of a fucking ant. But Maxwell threatened you, he- he called you a  _ bitch,  _ and I couldn’t let him get away with that!”

The hallway had cleared out almost completely. The only other people left were Georgie, Annabelle, and Jane. The latter two looked at Agnes before stepping out into the parking lot. They both leaned against the windows of the doors, hopefully waiting for Agnes to get outside. 

Before Agnes could respond, Georgie walked up to them. “Miss Jude, you are coming with me to the principal’s office right now,” she said, grabbing Jude’s arm. “Agnes, please leave, okay? Have a great break, though.”

Agnes locked eyes with Jude. Something passed between them. “Right. You too, Ms. Georgie.” Without much conviction, she turned and headed back into the auditorium, hearing Georgie’s faint scolding from behind her as the two of them walked further and further away. 

She shrugged on her coat, heavy now for late December. Annabelle and Jane both forgot their bags. Heaving them up onto her shoulders, she took a moment to think about what Jude explained. What exactly had Maxwell said to her? She’d been  _ threatened?  _ Who really started the fight?

A moment later, she’d pushed open the doors to the school, slotting into place beside her two friends. They both immediately started speaking. 

“Did Jude say what happened?” Annabelle asked. 

Jane barely waited for the other to finish. “Is she alright?”

Agnes sighed. “I really don’t know? She said that Maxwell threatened me and called me a- a bitch. She’s getting taken to the office right now.” She pulled the extra two backpacks off her shoulders and held them out. “Here- you forgot these.”

Jane and Annabelle graciously took their bags. “So, I’m guessing you guys… won’t want to be friends with her anymore. Annabelle, you  _ did  _ say she doesn’t get any more chances,” Agnes said, her gaze to the pavement. 

To her surprise, Annabelle shrugged. “You said that he threatened you?”

“I- I guess?”

“Then it wasn’t the  _ worst  _ thing for her to do. Not the best either, but… if she was trying to keep you safe, then- I get it.” Annabelle paused. “Honestly, in that situation, I might do the same.”

Agnes gawked at her. “Oh- okay?” She turned to Jane. “Janey, thoughts?”

Jane smiled. “Yeah, I agree with Annabelle. I mean, I don’t like violence. It’s never good. But Jude isn’t a bad person. I guess I’m starting to get that.”

“Hm,” Agnes said, leaning back against the door. “I guess we’ll wait for her, then.”

Ten minutes into waiting, the three of them were shivering in the cold, huddled shoulder to shoulder against the doors. Agnes was just about to suggest leaving when another door beside them opened. 

“Jude!” she exclaimed, springing off the door and into an upright standing position. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Jude shrugged. She held an ice pack in one hand, but at least the blood had been cleaned off her chin. A few drops still showed on her shirt. “Yeah. They’re suspending me after the break for a bit, and then I have detention for two weeks after that.”

“Oh thank  _ god,  _ I thought they’d expel you or something,” Agnes said, and without thinking, she threw her arms around Jude into a tight embrace. 

Agnes’s breath clouded into the air in front of her and over Jude’s shoulder, corporeal in the cold. She realized, warm against Jude’s body, that they’d never hugged. They’d barely even touched. Jude was  _ warm.  _ Her skin touched Agnes’s like a blazing fire. Jude was impulsive and reckless, and sometimes, Agnes wondered if she would get burned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! yes,, i finally let maxwell get his ass kicked. a bitch deserved it tbh  
> i don't have as much to say as usual today! other than the fact that i've found a Really cute venue for the daisira wedding, and i'm having so much fun putting the event playlist together lmao.  
> alright, i love you folks. i love your comments. stay Fresh and- listen up here- stay Funky! Yeehaw


	25. 12/23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you just want these fuckers to have a good day. that is what this is  
> also this chapter took so long to write and like for what? still keeping up with my schedule though peace sign emoji  
> Also We're At 69 Subs (nice)

-Martin Blackwood-

-12/23-

Over a month into their routine, weekly visits at PanoptiCoffee became a welcome constant in Martin’s life. Most days, he could even suppress the violent butterflies in his chest, falling into comfortable lapses of conversation and silence in Jon’s company. They were learning what subjects to broach without fear and which to regularly dance around. Jon threw up walls whenever the possibility of vulnerability arose, and Martin understood this. For years, he’d done the same. 

Jon, with his legs pulled up and crossed on his chair, hugged his jacket tighter around himself. Martin couldn’t help but notice his small shiver. 

“Are you cold right now?” Martin asked, genuinely curious. In his opinion, the shop was kept at a pleasant temperature, a safe haven in the soggy chill of England in December. 

Jon shrugged. “I, ah- well. I get cold rather easily. I really,  _ really  _ hate winter.”

With the way his small figure almost drowned in the jacket he wore, Martin could see why. Sometimes he wondered how Jon conducted any body heat for himself. A fascinating man, truly. “But there’s so much to love!” He paused. “Except, you know, Christmas shopping and the like. I’m really not cut out for  _ that  _ kind of stress.”

Jon froze in the middle of sipping his drink, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Martin furrowed his brows. “Jon? Are you… alright?”

“I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Jon set down his drink on the table and looked up at Martin. “I forgot to do any Christmas shopping.”

Martin snorted. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you can’t have forgotten everything.” He bit his lip, scanning the alarmed look in Jon’s eyes. “Shit Jon, you forgot everything, didn't you?” He was torn between laughing or pitying Jon, but when he searched back through his own memories of the month, Martin was struck by a realization- he’d forgotten to buy a gift for his mother. 

The two of them hadn’t talked since the unfortunate discussion regarding Martin’s sexuality, but he’d still planned to visit her on Christmas- no matter what she said or did to him, Martin couldn’t shake a certain obligation to the woman who’d brought him into the world. Not that he’d ever asked to be born, or that his mother did a bang up job of it. 

“Jon- I forgot to get anything for my mum,” Martin said, on the verge of laughing. After all, he’d tried to push the woman out of his mind for over a month.

Jon lowered his head onto his forearms out on the table, his dark hair splayed out in every direction. Martin wanted to smooth it all back into place- but, of course, he did not. “Oh dear lord- the shops will be packed, won’t they?”

Martin nodded. “Yep, I’m fairly certain that today is our only chance, isn’t it?”

“I fucked up,” Jon groaned into the surface of the table. 

Martin cast a glance out the window. He could see decorations in store windows, and the sky was packed with dense clouds, clouds that didn’t help with the ice frozen in patches around the road and pavement. “We should- we should just  _ go,  _ then.”

Jon lifted his head. “Sorry- what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, we should just leave. Go Christmas shopping. It’s winter break, we can spare a couple hours of today.”

“Ah- separate cars?” Jon asked. “There’s a mall just the next town over. Only about a five minute drive.”

Martin frowned. “I walked here, actually- I’m gay, asking me to drive when it’s icy is quite a frankly a  _ horrendous  _ idea.”

An eyebrow lifted slightly, the edge of Jon’s mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes shining with the mischievous glint Martin had begun to know well. “And you really think that  _ I’m  _ much better?”

“Well, if we end up in a terrible fiery wreck, at least it won’t be  _ my  _ fault!”

Jon stacked together a few of the papers that had been spread around their table, organizing them in a neat pile. He slipped them into his brown leather satchel, one so old and worn that Jon wore it almost like a badge of honor, and Martin could tell. The material was soft and rubbed away around the edges, and the corner of a book peeked out where a small hole had formed. “Am I, uh, driving us to the mall, then?” Jon asked. Seeing that he was beginning to pack up his things, Jon looked to already know the answer. 

“Yeah- um, sure, if you’re alright with that.” Martin pushed his chair away from their table and shrugged on his coat. “Might as well, really.”

Martin made quick work of throwing away his coffee cup and waving goodbye to Agnes and Annabelle from across the room. He opened the door for Jon and looked out at the uniform grey of the sky. They started down the pavement together, maintaining a distance of a few feet. Martin was hyper aware of the space between them. 

Jon couldn’t hide his shivering, and he moved his bag to the side to wrap his arms around himself. Despite the cold weather, Martin felt fine in his clothes- he wore a heavy coat over a denim jacket, as well as a homemade scarf, and actually felt on the edge of warm. Everything in him wanted to take off his outer coat and lay it over Jon’s shoulders. He’d drown in the thing, and Martin would be so very okay with it. But he didn’t attempt to do that. The worst outcome would propel Jon back into a state of avoidance, and Martin surely didn’t want that to happen. “Do you think it’ll rain?” Martin asked. 

“We live in  _ England,  _ Martin, it wouldn’t be too shocking.” Jon paused on the pavement, running a hand through his long hair, half tied up in a messy bun. Martin almost kept walking but took a step back, looking at Jon. “I think I parked the next street over.”

Martin sighed. “It’s alright.”

They turned around and Jon led them down the block in front of PanopotiCoffee again. They rounded the corner and started down the street, each side lined with cars under barren trees. A few still latched onto their last couple leaves, desperate to clutch onto their autumn beauty. Martin wanted to pluck them all off and let the landscape descend into that of bitter midwinter. He found something to aesthetically enjoy about every season, and that included winter. 

Jon fished his keys out of his satchel and unlocked the door of his car. He drove an old car, one that he’d apparently had since the start of uni. The windows rolled up manually, the stereo didn’t work, and the notion of it unlocking with just a click on a key fob was, quite frankly, ridiculous. Martin only knew this from their conversations- he’d never been inside. 

Martin opened the passenger side door and sat down on the worn beige fabric. As Jon started the car, revving to life with an almost humanlike groan, Martin took a deep breath. The interior, although obviously worn and old, was impeccably clean. It smelled like a stronger version of Jon. Old paper, cheap shampoo, maybe a hint of pine. 

They started the drive. Martin knew the mall in question, and it would take a few minutes maximum to get there. Martin sneezed, unaccustomed to this car’s environment. “Sorry- do you- do you have tissues in here?”

Jon didn’t look away from the road, but nodded. “Ah- should be in the glovebox.”

Martin opened the compartment in front of him and spotted the tissues first. He jumped as something slid out and fell on his lap. He let out a small noise of surprise and looked down. A smile spread over his face. 

“ _ Jon-  _ are these what I think they are?”

He held them up. Jon spared a glance to the side, and his face went grey. “Uh- probably. Yes.”

Martin raised the object to inspect it further- a pair of steampunk goggles, dark red and with the paint wearing away in some spots. He ran a finger over the ridges on one side. “I- I’ve never seen these in person! The actual  _ D’Ville _ goggles! Can I put them on? I- sorry.”

Jon tapped his fingers on the top of the steering wheel, shaking his head- not in a way that said  _ no,  _ more of a  _ this is amusing.  _ “You seem more excited to see the goggles in person than- well, me,” he said, chuckling slightly. 

Martin slid the goggles over the curls on his head and smiled at the weight of them pressing on his forehead. “What, are you some kind of celebrity?” he laughed, much to Jon’s annoyance. 

“Just don’t break them,” Jon sighed, but he couldn’t hide the quirk of his lips. 

“Copy that, Cap-  _ First Mate.” _

All Martin received in return was a scoff. 

They pulled into the car park, and Martin- with great disappointment- took off the goggles and put them back in the glovebox. Jon stopped the car and they climbed out, immediately missing the warmer refuge of the interior. Martin’s breath puffed out in front of him, white and dissipating like fog. “Not as busy as I’d expect,” Martin said, looking around the lot. 

“And thank god for it.” Jon rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “Let’s just get inside.”

And that they did. Martin would’ve held the door for Jon, but Jon walked so much faster, arriving at the entrance seconds before the other. Despite how much shorter his legs were, he sped everywhere he went as if discreetly running from something. As if running out of time. 

They stepped inside the mall, hearing a rush of sounds and activity as soon as they did. People calling out from kiosks, the underlying sound of chatter, the drifting notes of songs playing over store radios. Martin had never been a fan of the places, but he tolerated them to get some quick shopping done. 

Jon rocked back and forth on his heels, arms still held tightly despite the warmth. “Where… should we go?”

Martin took a quick survey of the space around them and the multitude of shops available. But not many of them seemed right- he was certain neither of them were looking for shoes or stuffed animals. He took a few steps forward, still scanning their surroundings, and his eyes happened upon the perfect place. “There’s a charity shop- we could try there?”

Jon nodded. “Worth a shot, then.”

From a first glance, the shop was clearly eclectic- perhaps once the sections had been cleanly separated and organized, but they’d devolved into amorphous chunks of items that bled into each other. A glint off of glass in the corner caught Martin’s eye. He made a beeline to the delicate figurines, pushed off to the side. He wasn’t particularly thinking of his mother- he had an almost embarrassing fascination with the tiny figures, always drawn to the more mythical ones. He ran a finger over the ridges of an intricately carved dragon. 

A woman came up to him, standing at the end of the table. “Can I help you with anything, love?” she asked. Martin looked at her, a short, older lady with greying hair and a floral patterned sweater. She spoke with a warm smile, and Martin couldn’t help but think that this was the mother he would’ve wanted. 

“Oh, I- no, I’m alright I think, just- looking for something for my mum is all.”

“What does she like?” 

Martin bit his lower lip. His mum sometimes turned on old classic rock records when he was a kid, the sound leaking into his room. She’d gone to pottery classes a few times in Martin’s teenage years- her health had only started to decline, so she couldn’t do many physical activities, and called the classes ‘stress relief’ for her. She’d still acted pretty stressed, though. 

There’d been a guitar in the corner of their living room for years, and no one ever played it. Martin liked to think his father did- it made him feel better, to look in the shadowy corner and see a remnant of the past. She’d never thrown it out. But did she  _ like  _ any of those things? Were those just passing sounds and activities, ways to fill time? Martin didn’t know. These days, there weren’t many things she seemed to like. 

“I- I don’t know,” Martin said, not to the kind woman. He stared at the wall, hands on the table. The words were spoken to himself. Sensing her confusion, Martin snapped back to reality and looked at her. “I’m alright- um, thank you.”

She nodded and turned away quickly, leaving Martin, a comforting and warm presence gone. 

Martin picked up a figurine of an elegant unicorn. Its mane was formed in excruciating detail, and it reared on its hind legs as if about to charge, powerful and commanding. He turned it around in his hands. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Martin nearly jumped, but turned around. “Christ, Jon, warn me before you do that!”

Jon furrowed his brows. “I- I did, I said your name a few times- anyway, do you think this is alright for Gertrude?” He held up a cardigan, a strange shade of brown and covered in what  _ may  _ have been a floral print. Martin grimaced. It was horrendous. 

“Well, it’s- it’s not the- maybe it’s o- no, sorry Jon, that’s hideous,” Martin laughed. 

Jon frowned. “I thought it was nicely understated.”

“Oh  _ god  _ no, show me the others,” Martin said, and he followed Jon to the other side of the shop, sidestepping cardboard boxes and table legs. They stood in front of a clothing rack made entirely of cardigans. Martin decided he wanted to live in this place. 

“Would any of these be good? I’m- not the best at this kind of thing,” Jon said, pulling hangers away to take a look at some. Martin squinted at the rack. 

He separated the hanging cardigans away from one in particular, soft and blue. “I don’t mind that.” Martin flipped the tag over and pointed to it. “It’s wool- I vote this one.”

Jon took it off the rack and laid it over his arm. Beaming, Martin noticed what was on the top of the rack, and took one off. “I think this is my style, yeah?” He gestured to the large, floppy straw hat, complete with a large bright green fake flower on the side. Jon, for the first time that day, cracked a true and unabashed smile. 

“And you claim my taste is horrendous,” Jon chuckled. 

With far too much glee, Martin plucked a horribly striped fedora from the rack, and promptly put it on Jon’s head. Scowling, Jon looked up at the brim of the hat. “You’re going to give me head lice, Martin.”

“Worth it for fashion,” Martin scoffed. “You have to be willing to take  _ risks,  _ Jon, if you want to be a trendsetter!”

Jon took the hat off and inspected it. His hair was frizzy around where the edges of the hat had hugged his head. “Was that my goal here?”

Martin nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”

His eyes caught on metal behind where Jon stood. He stepped aside the other man and took a dull sword from its place on the wall, wielding it close to himself. “This is wonderful- do I look ready to be a Kill Bill extra?”

Jon set the fedora back on the rack. “Haven’t seen it, actually.”

“You haven’t seen  _ Kill Bill _ ?”

“Indeed I have not.”

“Yeah, okay, we’ll have to change that.”

Martin slotted the sword into its place on the wall, entirely out of place in the homely shop. He waited at the entrance to the shop as Jon bought the cardigan. He emerged from the overstuffed aisles with a plastic bag in hand, lumpy and tinged slightly with blue. 

They studied a map of the mall, right next to the balcony that looked down to the first floor. Martin glanced down below. A large Christmas tree rose nearly to the balcony, and at the foot of it, a tired looking Santa heaved a kid onto his lap, no doubt asking what they wanted as a gift. Martin looked back to Jon. “You know, if you wanted a picture with Santa, I’m sure you’d be short enough to pass as a five year old child.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jon said, a chuckle accompanying. Still, he straightened out his back, maybe stretching himself a quarter of an inch. Martin found the attempt quite amusing. 

“You’d make a  _ very  _ convincing elf, you know.”

“Would you be quiet?” Jon laughed. “I  _ am  _ trying to find us a shop.”

“I do like the look of that antique shop,” Martin said, scanning the map. 

Jon scrunched up his nose. “I’m not sure Gerry would be interested in many antiques.”

“We could split up then?” Martin suggested. “Meet back here in fifteen or so minutes?”

Jon agreed to the idea, and Martin made his way to the antique shop, seemingly the only other non-chain in the mall. He loved eclectic and messy stores, where things were sold from slightly unkempt stacks or hidden boxes and racks. It felt so undeniably human. 

The door to the antiques shop even had a bell, ringing through the store as the only sound. Martin couldn’t spot anyone else, other than a young man sitting behind the register. He browsed the shelves of small trinkets, more and more hopeless with each one he saw. 

Martin stopped in front of a ceramic angel, staring at it for no clear reason. Did he even  _ want  _ to get a gift for his mother? Did he even want to see her? He knew he had to, his conscience wouldn’t survive without doing so, but no way in hell would she get him a gift. She’d probably throw out whatever Martin bought for her. 

He didn’t want his mother dead. That would be  _ sick,  _ he knew that. But some part of him knew that someday those damn bills would stop getting sent to his flat, and he would stop marking off visiting days on his calendar, and that relieved him just as much as it saddened him. 

With determination and courage that would most likely disappear in two days, Martin firmly decided not to buy her a gift this year. For the first time. Since he was 3, he’d at least draw a picture for his mum on Christmas Eve- and maybe it never went up on the fridge, but he would trick himself into believing she kept them or appreciated them. When they’d moved out of his childhood home, Martin got confirmation that this was just wishful thinking. 

He did, however, stop to inspect an open leather pouch on a table on his way out of the store. A dozen small things clacked around inside and he couldn’t deny curiosity. 

Inside were a mix of different types of dice, each swirled with a deep, emerald green. They were lined in shining gold that shifted and glimmered as he tilted his palm. The edges had been dulled from time and rolling, some of the painted on numbers missing lines or simply fading. 

They were beautiful. 

But Martin had no use for these dice, and so he reluctantly set them down, knowing he shouldn’t spend money on something pointless, albeit ethereal. A quick glance at his phone told him that somehow thirteen minutes had passed. 

He was soon back at the map of the mall, leaning against the railing of the balcony and absentmindedly checking social media. 

As soon as Jon got back, holding another bag, Martin put his phone away and straightened up. “What did you get?” Martin asked. 

Jon bit his lip and reached into the bag, pulling out a large skein of yarn. He held it out to Martin. “I know you- you said you, ah, you like knitting? I just figured, I probably won’t see you again before- before the New Years party, and I… well. I thought you’d like it.”

Martin smiled, a distinct warmth melting his chest. Jon stood with his hand outstretched, shifting his weight from side to side, fidgeting with one hand on his shirt. He almost seemed nervous. Of course, Martin took the yarn.

It was unbelievably soft, an ombre of pastels that wrapped in a seemingly neverending twist around each other. “Jon, I- wow, thank you.” He paused. “Shit- I didn’t get anything for you.”

Jon shrugged. “That’s fine, I- I didn’t ask you to.”

Martin almost lit up with his idea. “Wait! Hold on, uh- wait right here.” Jon didn’t have time to respond before he was already walking away. 

Martin sped to the antique shop, bursting through the door in a way that it alarmed the man behind the counter. He picked up a familiar leather bag and peaked inside it, as if he somehow could be holding the wrong one. He bounced on his feet as the bored cashier rang him up. The moment the money had been exchanged, Martin left the shop, hurrying back to where Jon was still standing, obviously confused. 

“Sorry,” Martin panted. He held out the bag. “Here.”

A questioning frown on his face, Jon took the bag. He opened the top and poured the contents out into his hand. The dice reflected the bright lights above them, glinting as they moved. “Martin, these are- these are beautiful. I… really don’t know what to say.”

Martin shrugged. “A thank you would do.”

Jon poured the dice back into the pouch and secured it nicely in his bag. “Well, then- thank you.”

Martin smiled. “No problem, Jon.”

As they made their way to the exit, Martin with nothing in his hands, he looked over at Jon’s bags. “What did you end up getting for Gerry?”

“Oh,” Jon said, fishing around in the bag, “Ah- this.” Jon held up a beautiful, leather bound journal, dark brown and complete with a strap to wrap around it. 

“He’ll love that,” Martin said. 

They stepped out of the mall, and as soon as they did, Martin noticed something different. “Jon! It’s snowing!” He looked around the car park, once bleak and grey, now revived by the snow that fell. Martin lifted his face to the sky and felt a snowflake land on the bridge of his nose. “It’s the first snow of the season,” Martin said, smiling at Jon.

Jon crossed his arms. “It’s fucking cold out here.”

“You have to admit it’s quite nice,” Martin said. He walked a few feet in front of Jon, his eyes aimed upward. He could feel the weight of snow on his eyelashes. Icicles hung from the edges of the building, and the bushes surrounding the perimeter had already gained a light dusting. They’d have the first white Christmas in years. 

About a minute later, when Martin was nearing the car, he turned around to look at Jon behind him. Jon stood with his face aimed to the sky, his tongue out slightly, still wrapping his arms around his small frame. 

Martin knew he didn’t love Jon. That would be ridiculous. They were only friends, and barely that- sometimes their conversations still faltered, and sometimes they didn’t know what to say, but every day was becoming more and more comfortable. Every day, Martin looked at Jon and something grew in his chest. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it had the  _ potential  _ to be love. 

And staring at Jon, who didn’t know someone was watching him, who just stood in the falling snow and held his tongue out to catch snowflakes- Martin could love him. 

“Are you catching snowflakes?” Martin called out to him.

Jon closed his mouth and froze. “No.”

“You do know you’re ridiculous, right?”

Jon sighed. “Let’s just- get in the goddamn car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ah yes, Thrift Store Woman and Person Who Ordered Hot Chocolate At Fundraiser: the ONLY people featured in this fic so far who never appeared in canon (yes, every other name came from canon)  
> -hideous fedora: https://www.amazon.com/Caddyshack-Style-Judge-Smails-Fedora/dp/B00522ITWW  
> god if someone has art skills i would LOVE to see jon in that fucking hat lmao  
> -me, actively going back and changing my shit to the british versions: British People Be Like  
> -anyway i know sometimes the stuff i write them doing isn't that exciting but like,,, they went through so much shit in canon? i write this fic solely for the purpose of knowing that they'll all end up happy and things will be okay, even if there might be some angst along the way. let the boys be happy 2020  
> -(also, i realized while writing this that i totally think gifts are one of jon's love languages? like, small, almost trinket-y gifts that show you're just thinking about a person. he's not great with words usually and isn't always a fan of physical touching, so he uses these small little things to show he cares and i think that makes sense)  
> -anyway, as always, thank you for reading!! you guys make writing every word of this entirely worth it, i love y'all and your comments. if you couldn't tell- stay Funky and stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	26. 12/24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitches be like here's a really cute and happy chapter one day and then this shit the next  
> it's me  
> i'm bitches

-Agnes Montague-

-12/24-

“Here, mum.”

Agnes carried a mug of tea from the kitchen to the living room, where her mother sat on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders. Agnes gave her the tea and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “Thanks, love,” her mum said, and then took a sip of the chamomile. She sighed and leaned back. 

“Can you believe it’s already Christmas Eve?” Agnes asked, wringing her hands where she sat. Conversations with her mother always made her tense. 

Her mother shook her head. “Not really, no.” She paused. “It’s only the third Christmas since your father died.”

She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. Agnes knew. Only the third Christmas since  _ Agnes  _ killed her father. The unsaid words hung heavy between them. 

“Yeah. I know.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Agnes stared into her own cup of tea, lukewarm in her palms, the steam rising up steadily at first and then less and less as the tea lost temperature. 

Finally, her mom spoke again, a wistful half-smile on her face. “He always made the best Christmas dinners. Oh, the way he roasted the turkey, with that stuffing on the inside? And his secret green bean sauce, that he always said he’d teach me someday.” Her mum seemed to deflate. “He never did teach me.”

Agnes bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She’d tried before- comforting didn’t work. Time had not yet helped the situation. If anything, every day, her mother grew more and more hopeless, withering away in their bedroom, or sometimes going to work. Agnes wondered how she hadn’t yet been fired. Maybe, just maybe, her manager took pity on them. It was a mystery. 

“I can try making dinner for us, then,” Agnes said, shrugging. She checked the clock in their living room- it was about nine. “It’s not too late.”

Her mum shook her head. “Sorry, dear. I’m not- I’m not very hungry. You understand.”

Agnes nodded, as much as she didn’t understand. “Yeah. Sure. I get it. I’ll just make myself something.” She paused, waiting for her mother to say something along the lines of  _ no, I’ll make dinner for you tonight,  _ or  _ it’s Christmas eve, you shouldn’t have to,  _ or even just a simple  _ I love you,  _ but none of those came. It was just empty silence. 

“I, uh… I got you a present,” Agnes said. 

Her mum barely looked up from her tea. “Oh.”

Agnes stood and walked into their bedroom, going to her side of the room. She always kept her side neat and tidy- sheets tucked into the sides of the bed frame every morning, no clothes laying out on her chair or floor. She could turn and look in the direction of her side and ignore the mess that was her mum’s. 

She opened the door to her wardrobe. Down, hidden under some clothes, she pulled out a small box that rattled around when she shook it. The label read  _ Good Energies.  _

About a week earlier, Agnes had been complaining to Jane and Annabelle- as she often did- about her mum’s situation, and about needing to find her a gift. Jane immediately suggested a box of some crystals, catered to healing from grief or loss. Of course, Agnes didn’t believe in the ‘power of crystals.’ She quite honestly thought it was all garbage. But some part of her, deep down, thought that if  _ something  _ had even the slightest possibility to help, it was worth it. 

It also helped that Jane threw in a candle for free. 

Agnes opened the box, inspecting that everything was there. Amethyst, Black Onyx, Rose Quartz, Moonstone, Mangano Calcite, and Fire Opal. Agnes wouldn’t have remembered any of the names if Jane hadn’t so kindly labeled them each in the box. She closed the lid and took the crystals back out to the living room, stepping over a pile of clothes in her way. 

Her mum looked up from the sofa. In these moments of clarity, Agnes could see their resemblance. Her mother Eileen had bright red hair and brown eyes. Her face was dotted by freckles, most compacted on her nose and below her eyes. Agnes knew, though, that her mouth and nose came from her father, a fact she knew did not help Eileen. 

Agnes sat down on the sofa and presented the box. “So- remember how Jane is working at that crystal shop, near where I work?”

Her mum bit her lip. “Sorry, love, where do you work again?”

Agnes sighed. “A coffee shop near here- PanoptiCoffee. Anyway, Jane suggested that I get these for you.” She opened the lid of the box, showing each of the small crystals in their dividers. 

Head tilted, her mum reached out and ran her finger over the ridges of the rough amethyst. “They’re beautiful. May I ask why?”

“They’re supposed to bring good energy,” Agnes said. “Healing and- and stuff.”

“I didn’t know you believed in that kind of thing,” her mum said, finishing in something that was  _ nearly  _ a chuckle. It made Agnes think that perhaps the crystals had actually done something. 

“I don’t,” Agnes huffed. 

“Then why get them?”

She paused, and then handed over the box of crystals. “I- I don’t know. I thought they were cool. Just- take them, okay?”

Her mum took the box, setting it down on the coffee table. “Well. Thank you. I, ah… I didn’t know we were doing presents this year. Sorry.”

Agnes shrugged. “It’s fine. I didn’t really expect one anyway, I guess.”

No apology, no hug or even pat on the shoulder, her mother continued. “It’s after nine, do you mind if I get to bed? I’m exhausted, honey.”

Agnes furrowed her brows. “But you don’t even have work tomorrow- why go to bed so early?”

“It’s just one of those nights,” her mum sighed tiredly. 

Without much of a fight, Agnes let her mum leave and slip into their bedroom. No doubt, Agnes would come into their room later and she’d be fast asleep, under a pile of unkempt bedsheets. Sometimes Agnes cleaned and made her bed, but it never lasted long. It became futile after a while. 

Alone in their living room, with the single floor lamp casting a sickly yellow glow, Agnes noticed the box of crystals still open on the coffee table. She pushed it closed and hoped to remember to bring it into their bedroom later. Maybe she’d even set it down on her mum’s nightstand. 

With a growling stomach, Agnes quickly got to work. She turned on the light in their kitchen- it flickered a few times, and then hummed to life, weak but at least functional. She filled a pot with warm water and set it on their stove to cook. Then came the mindless activity of grabbing a box of pasta from the cupboard, sliding about half of it into the boiling water, and then waiting. 

She leaned against the kitchen counter and scrolled through her Instagram feed. There were countless pictures of families celebrating together, or little kids opening presents. She smiled and liked a picture of a dog in a santa hat and red bow tie. There were holiday recipes listed in captions of photos of beautiful feasts. There were a few pictures involving menorahs as well. She double tapped and moved on from them all, growing more and more unsatisfied with every smiling face and plate of mashed potatoes. 

Another stir on the pasta proved it to be about done. She poured it into a strainer, turning away from the rising steam that assaulted her. The tap wouldn’t stop dripping. Agnes didn’t know how to fix it. She mixed the pasta with some pre-made marinara sauce. The expiration date listed for November, but she pretended not to see that and sprinkled some parmesan on top of her plate. A regular Christmas feast. 

She sat at their small, chipping dining table. It was pushed to a corner with a window on each wall, and as Agnes began eating, she stared out of them. Snow dusted the ground outside their building and latched onto bare trees. Even with sauce, the pasta tasted dry and flavorless. 

Sometimes, she kind of missed her dad. But more than that, she missed the life that came with him. She missed a functional mother, a nice house, and security. She missed juicy turkey on Christmas and a tree that was nearly made taller with the presents beneath it. And while that may have been selfish, she thought it valid. But it was all her fault anyway. She couldn’t complain. 

Left with nothing but pasta and her phone in a silent flat, Agnes pulled out the latter and clicked on the contact  _ perryromaniac  _ in her phone. 

_ sent at 9:44 _

**me:** hey

**perryromaniac:** hey.

**me:** merry christmas?

**perryromaniac:** that seems appropriate.

**me:** how is your night so far

**perryromaniac:** uh. Meh?

**me:** yeah, me too. shit kinda sucks here

**perryromaniac:** well, glad to know neither of us are alone in that.

**me:** my mum can’t stop thinking about the fire, even today

**perryromaniac:** did you expect her to?

**me:** fair enough

**me:** i just wish i were with you i think

**perryromaniac:** really?

**me:** it would be better than this

**perryromaniac:** a high bar. 

**me:** oh, shut up lmao. you know what i mean.

**perryromaniac:** yeah. i do.

**perryromaniac:** you really wish you could see me tonight?

**me:** i mean. yeah? not in a weird way or anything

**perryromaniac:** no. i get that.

**perryromaniac:** i think i’d rather be with you too.

**me:** well, good to know

Agnes waited for another reply from Jude, but it never came. She sighed and shut off her phone, having finished her meal. It was fine. Maybe Jude fell asleep. Maybe she’d been too forward. It was difficult to care. 

She washed her plate in the sink, watching the water run against the red residue and then fade out into the drain. The warmth felt nice against her hands. She reached her arms in even further, feeling the water run over her forearms too, soothing and smooth. When she turned the tap off, it dripped even more than it did before. 

The clock blinked  _ 10:06.  _ Agnes debated- was there anything left to do? Should she may as well brush her teeth, wash her face, and call it a night?

Agnes was tidying up the living room when she heard a knock on the door. Glass in hand, she froze, heartbeat raising immediately. They hadn’t invited anyone over. No one said they were coming. What robber would come on Christmas eve? But maybe that was a night when families would least expect it, who knew. Agnes could almost laugh at the thought of  _ them  _ getting robbed- what did they plan to take, crystals and bashed dreams? They didn’t own much of value. 

With her footsteps light on the carpet, Agnes crept over to the door. She stood on her tip toes and looked through the peephole. Confused, but relieved, she let out a shaking breath. 

She opened the door. “Jude- what are you doing here?”

In a light bomber jacket, Jude stood on the steps outside to her flat, not even shivering in the below freezing weather. Her choppy hair blew gracefully to the side from the wind. Jude shoved her hands in her pockets, a slight smirk on her face. “Well. You said you wanted to see me.”

Agnes stood in the doorway for a moment, in shock, before snapping out of the surprise. “I- oh! Jesus, you’ve gotta be cold out there, uh- come in?”

Jude kicked snow off of her boots and then stepped inside the flat. Quickly because of the rush of cold air, Agnes shut the door. Jude looked around the living room. “You know, I’ve walked here with you a few times now, but I’ve never seen the inside.”

Agnes laughed. “Well, it isn’t exactly much.”

“It’s where you live,” Jude said, shrugging. “So it’s a part of you. It must be something.”   


“You aren’t wrong.” Agnes paused, unsure of what to do next. Jude didn’t seem worried. She leaned against the wall, as if already comfortable in her home, with crossed arms. “Do you want a drink?”

Jude smiled. “Yeah, sure. What you got?”

“Um,” Agnes grimaced. “Water. That’s- that’s about it.”

“Guess I’ll have water then.”

Agnes walked to the kitchen. She stopped once inside and took a deep breath. When she’d said she wanted to see Jude, that hadn’t been a lie- bit she’d never expected it to come to fruition either. With Jude, she had no idea what to expect. Every day threw a new curve ball. For someone who’d always relied on schedules and constants, it was somewhat frustrating, but incredibly exhilarating. 

She filled a glass with water from the (damn leaky) tap and carried it back to the living room. There, Jude had migrated to their sofa and sat with one foot perched on the coffee table. Agnes set the drink down in front of her and then put herself next to Jude, leaving a few inches between them. 

“What’s that?” Jude asked, gesturing to the box on the table. 

“Oh,” Agnes said. She opened the top. “They’re crystals from Good Energies. I, uh, I bought them for my mum.”

“Because Jane gave you a discount for them?” Jude laughed. Unapologetically, Agnes nodded. 

“ _ Hell  _ yeah. I’m not paying full price for some fancy ass rocks.” The flat fell silent, besides a car driving by. The headlights flashed on the wall in front of them. “How’d you even get here?” Agnes asked.

“I walked.”

“That’s dangerous at night.”

“I know.”

Agnes searched for the words to ask the burning question. “You just- you just left? Home? It was fine?”

Jude looked at her with a raised eyebrow, almost amused. “It’s not like anybody really cared.”

“Really?” Agnes asked. “You know, I’ve told you a lot about myself before. You know about the fire and my mum and all the things I do. Which- which I love talking to you about. But I don’t really know anything about  _ you _ .”

“There’s not much to know,” Jude said. 

Agnes laughed. “You’re sixteen, Jude, that’s sixteen years of life, and I know  _ something  _ must have happened in at least one of them. What’s something that happened to you before you met me?”

“I turned fifteen,” Jude joked. Agnes punched her arm lightly. 

“Oh, cut the shit, Jude. I feel like I  _ know  _ you but I don’t. You get that, right?”

Jude paused for a moment, biting her lip. “You read my notebook. At the party. Do you remember that?”

That was an easy question to answer. Agnes remembered nearly every sentence, despite the fact she’d skimmed it on the stairs at a loud party. She could recall the tarot cards Jude wrote about and the vague references to her past that Agnes couldn’t understand, but felt on a deeper level. She nodded. “Yeah, kind of.”

“My mum had tarot cards in the bottom of her jewelry box. All her shit was fake, that trashy kind of jewelry that people layer on them more than their actual clothes, you know? I think she got them from one of her weird junkie friends that acted like tarot is more important than goddamn high school. I don’t know, I thought they were cool. I looked them up but didn’t really understand them. I still don’t really get it. When we moved into the trailer, and I had to sort through all her stuff, I threw away everything else in that damn jewelry box.” Jude paused. “But not the cards. I still have them. They’re all gross and yellow from when my mum used ‘em but I keep them around somewhere. I guess it’s- it’s a part of her and I wanted to keep something.”

Agnes nodded. Jude didn’t tell her anything outright, she never did, but there were bits of information she could grab and hold onto. She made a mental note of things. Trailer. Junkie friends. A part of her mum. 

“I get that,” Agnes said. “I still have one of my dad’s watches. It was somehow fine after the fire. My mum doesn’t know I have it, because she’d probably take it, and I think I’m afraid that I wouldn’t really… I don’t know, care? I have to act like I care about it because if not, I’m just kind of- the worst.”

Jude shook her head. “You’re not  _ the worst  _ for that. It’s probably better anyway.”

Another car drove by. The engine was loud and it almost shook the flat. Agnes, looking down at the floor, had unknowingly moved closer to Jude. Their shoulders almost brushed together, seemingly only atoms apart. “Is your mum alive?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

In spite of it all, Agnes laughed- actually  _ laughed-  _ a strange sound in the silent, tense flat. “What a merry Christmas for us, huh? We really crushed the whole ‘holiday spirit’ thing.”

Jude shook her head, chuckling as well. “We really pull off the whole jolliness and warmth thing. Made it our own, really.”

Agnes looked at the untouched water on the table. “I lied- we have tea, I totally forgot. You want some?”

Jude nodded, and both of them stood this time, Agnes leading the way to the kitchen. She reached up to grab the tea out of a cupboard and set two mugs on the counter. “When do you plan on going back home? It’s really not safe to be out this late.”

Shrugging, Jude hopped up on another part of the counter. “I don’t know, actually. I can’t imagine your mum likes me being here.”

“She’s asleep by now,” Agnes said. “That’s not a problem.” She set the kettle to boil and watched the light turn on. “Actually- sorry if this is weird or something- do you want to stay the night? I don’t want you walking back home alone after eleven.”

Jude gave her a sort of half-smile, more than she usually received. “Sure. Why not, really.”

“You can leave before my mum wakes up- if she doesn’t have work, she usually isn’t awake before noon.” 

“That works, then,” Jude said. Agnes took two tea bags out of their packages and dropped them into the mugs. Soon, the kettle came to a rolling boil, and she poured the water in the mugs. The water quickly darkened. 

“How do you take your tea?” Agnes asked. 

Jude shrugged. “Just plain is fine.” She grabbed the mug and, before Agnes could protest, took a large sip. Agnes gasped. 

“Holy shit, Jude, it’s still hot! Are you okay?!”

Jude smiled without any evidence of pain on her face. “Perfectly fine.”

As strange as  _ that  _ was, Agnes decided to ignore it, and Jude hopped down from the counter. “We could watch a movie or something,” Agnes said. “Maybe a really shitty Christmas movie on Netflix. Hallmark or something. We can watch some straight people pretend like they have to struggle for their romance.”

Jude snorted. “Sounds horrible. Let’s do it.”

As they sat down on the couch to watch some shitty, generic Christmas movie on her laptop, Agnes felt the first high of what may have been  _ Christmas.  _ For either of them, it couldn’t really be a day of family or love or happiness. But it was something. A few times, their shoulders brushed together as they sunk deeper into the couch cushions, or their knees touched, but that was enough for Agnes. 

Agnes fell asleep long before the credits began to roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's poppinnnn folks it's an hour and fifteen minutes until the deadline for this chapter peace sign emoji,,,,,  
> anyways how was your day?? mine was pretty decent! got deadnamed and misgendered, that shit hurted, but like Other Than That it was a pretty chill day. we're vibing i guess  
> fun fact, there are only 2 more chapters left in December! (one that technically crosses into January but y'all get it). another seven chapter month, which seems to be the average for them. i've got some Things planned that i hope make y'all feel things  
> that is all for today!! 100k words whooo!!!! as always, stay Funky and stay Fresh. Yeehaw!


	27. 12/25-27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peace sign emoji cw for homophobic speech and implied abuse  
> i am indeed a slut for holiday specials.

-Martin Blackwood-

-12/25-

Martin stood in front of the door to his mother’s room, with noticeably empty hands. He had nothing to do but nervously fidget with them. Funny thing; it turns out acts of defiance are much easier when one’s shitty mum isn’t around and things are going well with the man you’re very nearly in love with. Who could’ve known.

In a rather pathetic attempt to stall, Martin looked at his surroundings a little closer. The nursing home staff had tried to decorate the place for the holidays- a few meager wreaths hung on doors, there were Christmas lights strewn about. It didn’t do much to cheer up the space. Residents lived there, they complained, they wasted away, they died. And the place showed it. 

There was no use waiting any longer. Martin raised his hand to the wooden door, sucked in a deep breath, and knocked. 

“Who is it?” a gruff, but familiar voice shouted from within. 

Martin shut his eyes tightly. “It’s- me. Martin.”

A pause. 

“Martin?”

“Yep, that’s, uh, that’s me! Martin! Sorry.”

Even through the door, there was an audible sigh from inside. “Yes, yes- come in then.” Martin opened the door slowly, avoiding his mother’s eyes for as long as possible. 

He hadn’t been in this room for a month. Every day- every single fucking day- he remembered with extreme clarity the look on his mother’s face when he admitted he was gay. Martin saw it before he went to sleep and in his dreams. The sound of her saying  _ get out  _ rang in his ears like an alarm in the morning. Not even sparing a call, he didn’t speak a word to his mum for a month, the longest time he’d done so. But today, he just couldn’t avoid it. 

“Hey, mum,” Martin said, his voice timid and quiet. 

She stood by the sliding glass door, the one that looked out to the small pond. She wasn’t quite staring out of it- more looking in the general direction, but pointedly away from Martin. He froze just inside the doorway. 

“You’ve finally decided to pay me a visit, have you?” she asked. It wasn’t quite a question, and it ended in what could’ve  _ almost  _ been called a chuckle. 

“I… guess I have.”

She turned around and set her hands on her hips. Despite the wrinkles, her face was stern and set into place, her eyes cold. Martin felt a trembling in his hands. “You haven’t spoken a single word to me in a  _ month.  _ How is your old, lonely mother supposed to feel about that? You only visit me out of holiday obligation?”

Martin ran a hand through his hair. It tangled in his curls, wrapped up in too much all at once, too overwhelmed to even attempt to move. “You- you did  _ tell  _ me to get out, and I… well, I did.”

He looked to the window and watched a light mist rise off the ground, especially off the pond. It was the strangest thing to focus on at that moment, but Martin knew the weather forecast hadn’t predicted any fog or rain. He shook it off and looked back to his stern-faced mother. 

“Well, sit down,” she said. As they often did, she took her seat in the armchair, and Martin followed on edge of the bed, sitting down slowly as if he’d sink into the ground the moment he touched the sheets. “Is there something you’re forgetting to tell me?”

Martin, about to shake his head, remembered. “Oh. Yeah. Uh, merry Christmas?”

His mum snorted. “God, the manners on you. I certainly hope  _ I’m  _ not the reasoning for that.”

As much as he would’ve loved to remain defiant, Martin’s chest deflated. “Sorry,” he said, monotone and empty. 

She nodded curtly, and her hair didn’t move an inch. For as long as Martin could remember, she’d slick her hair into a tight bun every day. The style reminded Martin of Nurse Gertrude, but he knew he’d much rather have Gertrude as his mum than the woman he sat across from. 

“So,” she started, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on her long skirt. “I haven’t seen you. Are you still at that teaching job of yours?” She didn’t ask with much enthusiasm, but the question still prompted Martin into a ramble. 

“Oh- yeah! I am! It’s really going great, actually, the kids are wonderful, and I’ve made amazing friends with the other teachers, there’ll even be a New Years party with a bunch of us, and there’s this guy who-” Martin stopped, remembering who he was talking to. He swallowed, staring into her unamused eyes. “Right, I- sorry. What’s… up with you?”

She snorted. “Bingo. Sad people dying. My son not visiting me for a month.”

Martin pursed his lips and nodded. “Uh… right. Yeah.”

“With pleasantries and all out of the way, I assume you’ve brought something.” Her eyes scanned him up and down. 

Martin would’ve laughed at her word choice- ‘pleasantries’- if he weren’t shaking. His hands wrung together, sweaty and cold. “I- didn’t.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

“...No.”

Crossing her arms, she leaned forward in the chair, staring Martin down with a gaze that made him shrivel. “Well. Isn’t that a first.”

He leaned back and away from her. Even shrinking in the older years of her life, especially as her health deteriorated, and despite Martin being just a bit over six feet tall, it seemed that she towered over him. He swallowed again, throat dry. “Well, I- did- did you?”

She laughed. “It’s a gift that I’m even letting you in this room, Martin.”

There was silence between them. Martin’s mum leaned back in her seat with something akin to a smile on her face. Martin took in her image before him- even in just the month since seeing her, she’d lost significant weight. He averted his eyes to the floor. “Why… why  _ would  _ I get you something,” he mumbled.

She pushed against the armchair in a fast attempt to stand, but halted once the weight was in her legs, wincing. Martin instinctively rushed forward to help her and make sure she didn’t fall- an instinct after years of caretaking. He’d endured far worse than this and immediately assisted her after. 

Dropping back down in her chair, she glared at him. “Get out.”

Martin frowned. “I- okay? It- I didn’t, uh, didn’t visit last time, do you want me to…”

She shook her head. “No. No, no, no. I give you life and put a roof over your head for twenty years, and then you still can’t bother to care about me. Even after you tell me about your disgusting  _ practices  _ I let you back in here, but this? This is the last straw. I want you to get out and never come in again.”

Martin knew this feeling well, but never so intensely. The feeling of nothing. Hollow and empty. And this time, the only mist was the one that filled his eyes. “Oh.”

“Did you  _ hear  _ me?”

Martin nodded. “I’ll… still pay for your residential bills…” he said, his voice trembling, but still thinking of her first. 

“And even now, you just can’t listen to directions.”

Martin bit down on his lip. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he went to the door. Maybe he could still leave with some dignity in him- open the door, walk out, and close it without another word or another look. 

His hand hovered over the door handle. The door opened, and the beige of the hallway stretched out on either side. He stepped out. He held the door. He almost let it go. But at the last moment, he faltered and looked back.

She wasn’t even looking at him. 

The walk downstairs to the car was a blur, even physically, as tears clouded his eyes. He didn’t sign out. Maybe the secretary called out to him, but the sound bounced off of his ears. He pushed open the door with such force that it banged against the outside wall of the home, and he took off at a run, faster than he’d run in years, his feet pounding against the pavement to where his car was across the lot. The sky was overcast and a light fog surrounded him. The field next to the home stretched out and out, the horizon hidden in fog. 

He passed by the car without a thought and kept running. Winded, he slowed but didn’t stop walking. Shit, he’d forgotten his coat in the room. It barely registered. He couldn’t go back anyway. There was snow on the ground, and the fog chilled him to the bone. Martin didn’t care- he couldn’t. The cold felt nice. It numbed the bare parts of his skin, dampened by the fog. 

The car park and the road disappeared. There was only snow on the grass and thick fog. With nowhere else to run to, Martin stopped there and stared into the nothingness. Snow, fog, sky. They wouldn’t call him disgusting, would they? The snow and the fog and the sky would not hate him. 

He dropped down, first to his knees, then fully. The damp of the snow seeped through his jeans. The fig was beautiful, and it didn’t hurt. Numb was the opposite of hurt. It edged closer to comfort. 

Martin thought about staying in that field. A part of him didn’t see why not to. He couldn’t hear anything but the occasional rush of a car going by in the distance, a sound that washed over him. 

He’d derailed his entire life for that woman. The high school diploma he’d meant to earn at eighteen was delayed by years, put off to learn how to become an adult for  _ two  _ people at only sixteen. The shitty jobs he’d worked were done to afford her medical bills. He’d sacrificed nearly ten years of his young life. And still, she threw him away. 

Martin had seen a few pictures of his father. He knew the resemblance they shared- their curls and deep brown eyes, the freckles that dotted their faces, their larger builds. But Martin wasn’t his father- he knew that. He couldn’t be his  _ father.  _ And yet she treated him like he was, like he’d been the one to harm her.

It was only the truth- she’d discarded him, casting him out like a useless piece of rubbish. And was she really  _ wrong?  _ He’d never been particularly good at anything, other than the occasional baked good and taking care of plants. Certainly he’d never made her proud. He didn’t really make  _ anyone  _ proud. 

Perhaps that was why, midday on Christmas, he had no one to come home to. There’d be a sad flat and some frozen pizza waiting. 

Martin sighed. He wouldn’t be able to move his arms or legs soon. Standing, he brushed off his clothes, watching bits of snow fall softly to the ground. He turned around and started to make the trudge back to the car park. 

Once in his car, Martin turned on the heating system, but it did nothing to dry the damp that had seeped into his clothes. Christ, he’d have to buy a new coat.

He started the drive down the foggy road.  _ Merry Christmas, Martin Blackwood. _

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-12/27-

“And you’re certain James said this was okay?”

Jane paced in front of the door, hands locked behind her back. From a table against the wall, Annabelle laughed at her. “Yes, Jane, we  _ have  _ told you that about seven times now.”

Jane looked down at the ground. “Just- you know. Making sure.”

From the back of the shop, Agnes stopped wiping the counter. She pressed her palms against the edge of the counter and leaned on them. “So Annabelle, you’re just going to let me clean up without you?”

Annabelle gave her a thumbs up and emphatically kicked back, perching her feet on the window sill. “Yup! Sounds good,” she said, smiling mischievously. 

Agnes sighed and continued to work. They were closing up PanoptiCoffee for the night, but not like usual; they’d been given special permission from James to let a couple of their friends in after shop hours and have their own tiny Christmas party. They’d thanked James perhaps a couple too many times, excited to have a place where they could meet. Gerry, Michael, and Jude were coming as well, but hadn’t arrived yet. For that moment, the shop was remarkably quiet. 

Agnes loved being there at the end of the day. The windows were large enough that she could look out of one and easily see the sunset. Then, the string lights would glow yellow and soft in the night, a cozy place to hide away. 

She heard the ring of the door opening. Her head snapped to look at it, and in walked Michael and Gerry, a real life exercise in contrast, as per usual. Michael wore something especially nice that evening- a light pink dress with designs stretching out over it, almost hypnotizing. He’d tied about half of his long curly hair back with a red ribbon. Gerry hadn’t dressed up much, the only change from usual the black and large winter coat covering his top half. 

“Gerry! Michael! You guys made it!” Jane said, enthusiastically embracing the both of them. They separated as Agnes came out from behind the counter to greet them as well. 

“I would not miss it for the world, as they say,” Michael smiled. 

Agnes said hello to them, standing with her shoulder touching Annabelle’s. “Jude, uh, should be here soon.”

Annabelle bumped her shoulder teasingly. “You’ve literally been saying how you wonder when she’ll get here ever since our shift ended.”

They closed at 7:00, and it was only 7:20, so Agnes shrugged this off. “I’ll neither confirm nor deny those allegations.  _ Anyway,  _ do you two want anything to eat or drink? We probably don’t want to use too many of the machines, considering we just cleaned up.”

Gerry shrugged. “Just a coffee for me then, I guess.”

Michael didn’t even have to glance at the glass box to know what they had- he was well versed in PanoptiCoffee food offerings. “I am a little peckish, so I would take a muffin, if that is alright,” Michael said. 

Agnes nodded and went back to her comfortable place behind the counter. She turned on the machine, grabbed Michael’s muffin from its spot in the box, and then poured out the coffee. By the time she went to them with both, they’d dragged two tables together and were sitting around them. 

Agnes set the items in front of Michael and Gerry, and then took a seat next to Annabelle. She made sure the seat to her right remained open. 

“Everyone brought something for the Secret Santa?” Jane asked. She herself put a wrapped box on the table. The wrapping paper read  _ Boo! _ and featured a ghost pattern, an interesting choice for a holiday gift. 

As the conversation progressed, Agnes couldn’t stop glancing at the door every so often. Five minutes passed. Another five minutes passed. Agnes interrupted something Annabelle said after being silent. “Did she say anything about not coming to you guys?”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Oh,  _ excuse  _ you then. And no, to answer your question. Why don’t you just text her?”

Agnes nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

**me:** hey! u almost here?

She turned off her phone and set it screen up on the table, waiting for the familiar vibration. It didn’t come. 

Agnes had been concerned about Jude since Christmas Eve. They’d had a wonderful night, drinking tea and making jokes about the shitty Hallmark movie they watched until Agnes inevitably went to sleep. She’d been correct- her mother wasn’t a problem, sleeping nearly until noon. But Agnes saw the look on Jude’s face when she checked her phone in the morning. It was an emotion Agnes had never seen before on the other; fear. 

Jude left quickly after that, barely saying goodbye to Agnes. And they hadn’t talked since. 

The others carried on in their conversation, something about art club, but Jane leaned across the table to Agnes. “Did she say anything?” she whispered.

Agnes shook her head, and Jane sat back in her chair again. As if on cue, the door swung open. Agnes brightened when she saw a familiar head of black hair and an indifferent face. “Jude! You came!” Agnes exclaimed, smiling a little too widely. 

Jude chuckled. “I’m glad you’re happy to see me.”

Despite another open seat at the table, one not next to anyone, Jude sat down next to Agnes. Agnes gave her a warm smile and hoped it got across everything she felt. It didn’t. 

Annabelle drummed her fingers on the table. “I’m impatient I’m impatient, can we do gifts now?” she asked excitedly, hopping up and down in her seat like a small child. 

“I’m alright with that,” Gerry said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small object, wrapped in green paper. 

Soon, each of them had a small object on the table, either wrapped or in a bag. After a moment of silence, Annabelle pushed her’s across the table. “Alright, alright, fine, I’ll go first. I got one for you, Michael.”

Michael smiled and took the present. It was a flat rectangle, and the wrapping was done beautifully. “It looks perfect, I am reluctant to ruin it,” he laughed. Annabelle emphatically shook her head. 

“Go for it! Rip into it! Kill it’s family and friends, raze its village to the ground!” Annabelle leaned forward and rested her chin on her palms, watching Michael begin to tear the wrapping paper. He took it fully off and held up the gift. It was a palette, light purple in color. 

Annabelle beamed. “It’s an eyeshadow palette I’ve very much been obsessed with in the past few months. It has the single most pigmented yellow that’s ever had the honor of touching my eyelids, so I bought it for you!”

Michael opened the lid of the palette. He dabbed his finger on one of the shades, and then held it up. His fingertip was covered in a bright yellow. “You are correct- that is incredibly pigmented. Thank you, Annabelle,” he said, and she nodded in a response. “Do I go next then?”

To the general agreement of the group, he turned to the side and handed Gerry a wrapped gift. When Gerry slid out a heavy book, he looked up at Michael. “You got me…  _ A Little Life _ ? The book I showed you back in September?”

Michael nodded. “I did. Look inside.”

With a quirked head, Gerry flipped through the book. He smiled. “You annotated it yourself. And with sticky notes.”

“I know how you would hate for me to ruin the perfection of a book,” Michael said.

They shared a meaningful look, and Jude sighed. “Fucking kiss if you want to.” The table laughed as the two of them complied, a collision of light and dark is the messiest and most wonderful way possible.

Gerry pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Right. Me then.” He set the small object in front of Jude. “I don’t know you all that well yet, sorry, but seeing your fashion taste, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

She unwrapped the small, rectangular gift. It was a rich black lipstick, shining under the lights of the coffee shop with silver lettering. Jude nodded at Gerry. “Thank you. I’ll definitely try it.” Agnes envisioned Jude with black lipstick, and the image sent a jolt of electricity through her system. She’d certainly like to see that. 

As per the pattern, Jude went next, and to Agnes’s surprise, handed her a small gift. Jude bit her lip as Agnes unwrapped it. 

A deck of tarot cards. It was obviously new- the edges were still pristine, the cards themselves still with simple but vibrant ink. There was one card placed on the outside of the package. The label at the bottom said  _ Strength.  _

Agnes looked at Jude and raised an eyebrow. Jude nodded, and their unspoken conversation was somehow clear to both, a confession and an agreement all at once. 

Jane looked offended. “Hey, you said that crystals are bullshit, and then turn around and get a tarot deck! What’s a girl to think?”

“It- it doesn’t mean exactly that,” Agnes said, on the verge of laughing. “Anyway. Jane, I hope this makes up for it.” She passed Jane a small box. Inside, there were two worm on string earrings she’d made herself. Jane didn’t hesitate to throw her arms around Agnes in thanks.

“Annabelle, I have you, and it  _ also  _ has to do with earrings,” Jane said. She handed the gift to Annabelle. 

Once unwrapped, Annabelle pulled out a spider plushie from the box. She squealed and hugged it close. “Ooh, thank you!”

Jane winced but couldn’t get her words out fast enough. “Wait, there are-”

“Ow,” Annabelle interrupted, holding the spider away from her. 

“Earrings on it,” Jane sighed. 

Annabelle smiled and took two large rainbow earrings that were hooked on the spider. In a few smooth, practiced motions, she took out her current earring in one ear and replaced it with the rainbow. “How does it look?” she asked. 

“You look incredible,” Jane said. A wistful smile lingered on her face for a moment before she hid it. “Well, uh- that was pretty successful!”

Agnes gave Jane a strange look, but the moment passed quickly. 

“It is snowing outside,” Michael said, looking over their heads (an easy thing to do for him) and to the window behind them. Agnes turned, and he was correct- in the darkness outside, white flecks drifted through the air, peaceful and without hurrying to the ground. Agnes stood and grabbed her coat. 

“What do you say we all head outside for a minute to see it?” she asked. 

The others agreed almost immediately- well, Annabelle took a moment to convince- and soon Agnes was holding the door of the shop open for them. She made sure to have the keys in her pocket before letting the door close. 

No cars passed on the street in front of them. No other people passed on the pavement. It was just them, and they stood shoulder to shoulder. Agnes looked up at the sky, Michael and Gerry looked at each other. None of them spoke. The lights from the shop glowed and somehow lit the pavement as well, painting the scene in warm yellow. 

Even outside in the cold, Agnes felt a spark of heat when her shoulder brushed against Jude’s. Instead of moving away, Jude moved closer. They pressed against each other and looked up at the snow falling. A flake landed on Agnes’s nose and she nearly laughed at how it tickled. 

Three years ago, her father died. Three years ago, her mother stopped being a mother. And she’d been feeling the pain of that since winter break began. But standing beside her best friends, filled with warmth even in the snow, that hurt couldn’t touch her. 

Agnes leaned her head on Jude’s shoulder, and Jude looked down at her. “Merry Christmas, Agnes.”

She hummed in contentedness.  _ Merry Christmas, Agnes Montague. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow wouldn't it be so much smarter of me to write chapters gradually every day instead of waiting for my upload day and spending the entire day writing the chapter??? lmao silly me!  
> anyway, thank you for reading loves <3 it's weird writing about winter when it just became september but sure lmao  
> can't believe it'll be january in this fic already soon!! one more chapter!!! i honestly wasn't sure i'd get this far bc i never have the best motivation, but all of your comments have helped me so much to keep going and to enjoy writing every second of it.   
> and, as always- stay funky. stay f r e s h. Yeehaw!


	28. 12/30-31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the floor plan of rosie's house makes sense to me and that's all that matters just... go with it idk  
> also this is kind of a long chapter so buckle in folks  
> cw for depression and isolation

-Martin Blackwood-

-12/30-

Despite the cold, sunlight is intense in winter. The rays bear down on you, harsh and unforgiving as they reflect off the snow. No other season has light quite like winter. In spring, the sun is a promise of life and hope, in summer, the sun brings you joy and warms your face as you sit under it, washed over in the green and blue and yellow hues. Autumn sun is a wonderful thing- far more forgiving than in any other season, the rays filter through multicolored leaves and the sun sets in a burst of pink and orange glory. 

Not winter, though. The sunlight of winter is cold and imbalanced. The skies are clear, almost painfully blue, until clouds finally come to hide the world from it. And then the rain will come. 

Martin hadn’t dealt with the sunlight in days. The morning after Christmas, he’d squinted at the brightness and closed his blackout curtains. He didn’t bother to open them back up. 

Four days of moving between his bed and the sofa. Occasionally the refrigerator. Once, the mail. He didn’t quite feel like making tea. 

It was somewhere around four o’clock on the thirtieth of December, the second to last day of the year. The New Years party was the next day. Martin didn’t even have to debate with himself whether to go or not- he just wouldn’t. Too many people to talk with, too many people looking at him and asking too much of him. 

He’d let his phone die days earlier. The charger laid discarded on the floor of his bedroom, plugged into nothing. 

The television was on in the background, and the light reached to the corners of the living room, where it dissolved into darkness. The floor lamp hurt Martin’s eyes too much to turn on, and so he lived by the light of the TV. Noises played from it, noises Martin didn’t understand turned away from it, his eyes closed against the soft back of his sofa. He liked it under the blankets. It was warm, and easy to forget, and he could lose himself in the meaningless sound of the television and the blaring light. 

Martin didn’t feel like talking to anyone. If his own mother couldn’t stand his fucking presence, he doubted anyone else could. 

He’d tried to write some poetry, late on the night of Christmas. It was complete shit. He’d ripped it up and thrown it in the rubbish. After that, it was difficult to pick up a pen and put it to paper. Once, he’d gotten so far as to dig out a pen from the kitchen drawer after discovering the other was out of ink, but he didn’t go any farther. There weren’t any emotions to write about. An empty heart can’t very well fill a page. 

A couple plants were starting to turn brown on the bookshelf. Martin knew he ought to water them. He didn’t move. 

And then, startlingly, there was a different sound. One Martin hadn’t heard in a while, one Martin wasn’t used to. His eyes snapped open, and he froze. He flinched when it happened again- a knock. Just a light, gentle rapping on the door. Who could be there to see him? Was it his landlord? He ran back through his memories of that month, and at some point he knew he’d paid his rent. No other possibilities came to mind. 

The knocking came again, a little harder this time. With significant effort, Martin pushed off his blankets. He stretched out his back for a moment once off the sofa. As another knock sounded through his living room, he hurried to the door. The fact that he was wearing pajamas and had ridiculously messy hair didn’t come to mind. 

Squinting from the light of the hallway, Martin opened the door. Two unexpected faces smiled at him. 

“Martin! You’re here!” Sasha threw her arms around him, and although he’d usually reciprocate an embrace like this, it came like an icy bucket of water when he hadn’t seen another person in days.

Martin nodded. “Yeah. I live here.”

Tim smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, you know what we mean, don’t you Mart-o? Just happy to see you is all.”

They seemed like they were expecting to be let in. Sighing, Martin stepped to the side, allowing them to come in and close the door. 

Sasha screwed up her nose and looked around the flat. Martin had left the TV on in his hurry, and it was still the only light in the dark room. “Jesus, Martin. It’s looking a little post-apocalyptic in here.”

Martin shrugged. When neither of them said anything else, he figured he’d have to break the silence. “So. Why are you here?”

“Not so happy to see us, are you?” Tim teased, crossing his arms. When no smile spread across Martin’s face, he dropped his arms. “Oh. Okay. Well, we were… concerned.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Concerned?”

“You haven’t answered any texts for  _ days,  _ Martin, no one’s heard or seen from you since Saturday- that’s when you and Jon last met, yeah? We’ve all been missing you on a couple little outings we went on,” Sasha said. 

Tim nodded. “Oh yeah, like our ‘ironic’ trip to the Children’s Museum, where Melanie used their ‘please touch’ policy with a little too much enthusiasm.”

“Or when we totally pranked Amherst by  _ cleaning  _ his tan jacket,” Sasha added. “Georgie had particular fun with that one. Anyway, we just mean to say that all of us were worried, that’s all.”

Martin sat down on the sofa, welcoming the familiar feeling of the cushions under him. “Sorry. My phone was dead.”

Tim shifted his weight to one hip. “Oh, understandable, because phone chargers can only be accessed through the dark web and/or the black market and you really don’t want to get mixed up with the wrong crowd. They might get you addicted to  _ earbuds  _ and that would be truly devastating for us all.”

Unlike Tim, Sasha scanned Martin with softer eyes. She took another look around the flat and then placed her arm on Tim’s. “Tim, why don’t you go- open the curtains?”

Tim gave her a questioning glance, but obliged. Martin could slightly make out a Hawaiin pattern on his shirt in the dark. 

Sasha sat down next to Martin on the sofa, a good couple feet away from him. She bit her lip and tilted her head. “Martin, absolutely no judgement- just a question. How long has it been since you’ve showered?”

Martin looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I- I know. I know.”

“It’s okay, Martin, I get it.” As Sasha spoke, Tim opened the curtains of one window, and light suddenly flooded the room. Martin reached to cover his eyes with his hand. 

“ _ Do  _ you know? Well isn’t that just splendid! Because you know, it really would  _ suck  _ to be alone right now! What an absolute nightmare!” He flopped onto the back of the sofa, letting his head stretch back on the edge. There was silence for a moment. “Sorry. It’s not your fault.”

At some point, Tim had crossed the room and wandered into the kitchen. “That’s quite a few dishes in the sink there, Martin! Perhaps a record- are you going to nationals?” he called.

Sasha sighed. “Ignore him, really. He’s a bit of an idiot, but I’m sure you know that.”

Martin felt his face change into a half-smile. It was the most he’d smiled in days. 

“Do you need to talk?” Sasha asked, reaching a hand out to place on top of his. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve chatted with anyone recently.”

Martin snorted. “You are not wrong there.”

From the kitchen, Tim shouted to them. “I’m taking out your trash!”

Sasha twisted on the couch to look at him behind them. “Well don’t make such a fuss of it.” With the hand that wasn’t pulling an overflowing rubbish bag from the bin, Tim blew her a dramatic kiss. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Martin. 

“Are you okay? What’s been going on?”

Martin shrugged. “I’m- not really sure, you know? Christmas was just a bit rough this year- well, it usually is- and I just… haven’t felt like talking to anyone.”

Nodding, Sasha rubbed a smoothing line on the top of his hand. Martin had forgotten she was a guidance counselor. “Do you want to go into any more detail, or leave it there? It’s fine either way.”

“I- well. It’s my mum. She… doesn’t want to see me any more.”

Sasha’s face fell. “Oh.”

“But- it’s fine! I’m fine! It could maybe even be a good thing, actually, it’s alright- no need to worry.” He paused. “I’m fine.”

She let go of his hand. “Martin, darling, you’re not fine. Holing yourself up here just isn’t healthy. I think we were right to be worried.”

He didn’t answer her. 

“Whatever you need today, I’m here to help, and as moronic as he may be, Tim is here to help as well.”

The edge of Martin’s lips quirked up a little, whether from the reassurance or from Tim’s own girlfriend calling him ‘moronic,’ he couldn’t be sure. But Sasha  _ was  _ helping. “Oh- uh. Thank you, then. I don’t need much, really…”

Sasha stood up and pulled Martin alongside her. “I’m going to get started on the dishes and watering your plants. You’re going to take a shower, and Tim will order takeout, alright? What’s a good place near here?”

Martin bit his lip, thinking. “There’s a Thai place near here- Green Basil.”

“Once Tim gets back, we’ll get on that, then. Now go,” she said, shooing him down the small hallway where his bedroom and bathroom branched off from. 

When she left to the kitchen, Martin walked into his bathroom and flicked on the light. The fluorescent bulb pained his eyes for a moment before getting used to it again. He leaned on the counter, staring at his reflection. It’d been a nice few days of barely seeing himself in mirrors. 

The shower was refreshing. When Martin emerged, rid of smells and his hair already bouncing back into curls, it was nice to be hidden by the condensation on the mirror. He wrapped his body in a towel and quickly crossed the hall into his bedroom. Soon, he emerged in an actual jumper and a pair of clean sweatpants. He walked into the kitchen and saw Sasha pouring a glass of water. 

“Here. Have this,” she said, passing it to him. Martin took a tentative sip.

Tim stood next to her. “Takeout should be here in a few minutes.”

Sure enough, about five minutes later, they sat around the small table in his kitchen, surrounded by containers. Martin pushed a piece of tofu around his plate. Despite all they’d done, he still didn’t have much of an appetite. 

A little too quickly after shoveling a large forkful of noodles into his mouth, Tim looked at Martin. “So, are you coming to the New Years party tomorrow at Rosie’s? We’ve all been excited for weeks now.”

Sasha gave him a disapproving glance, one that read as  _ really, not now,  _ but Martin only shrugged. “I- I don’t know. How many people will be there again?”

“Just the teaching staff, and maybe a few of their friends,” Sasha answered. “I think everyone else would love to see you again. I know Jon hopes you’ll come.”

Martin’s head snapped up from his plate to look at them. “He does?”

Sasha nodded. “He’s too much of an arse to actually say it, but he for sure implied that. All of us could tell. He’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Kind of?” Tim laughed. 

“Fine, a  _ lot  _ of.” Sasha sighed. “But you should come, Martin. It’s always the highlight of the year.”

Martin rubbed his face with his hand. “What time does it start again?”

“Nine o’clock sharp, although I  _ will  _ be arriving fashionably late,” Tim said. 

Martin would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed this. Even being the downer third wheel was bearable with Tim and Sasha. “Yeah. Sure. Tell everyone I’ll be there.”

Smiling, Sasha reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone- Martin’s. “You can tell them yourself if you’d like. I took the liberty of charging it for you while you were showering.” She passed it over to Martin, and he took it, clicking it on for the first time since Christmas. 

Several notifications filled up his lockscreen. Most notably, over two hundred from the teacher group chat- christ, they liked to talk. But there were a couple from Jon as well. He opened them. 

_ sent at 8:00 PM, 12/25 _

**Jon:** Hope you had a good Christmas. 

_ sent 10:33 AM, 12/27 _

**Jon:** A few of our ‘friends’ are going on some idiotic trip to a children’s museum. I do hope you don’t plan to go. Are you?

_ sent 4:06 PM, 12/27 _

**Jon:** It was actually quite a bit of fun. God, don’t tell anyone I said that. Especially not Melanie- I think she’d hold it over my head the rest of this school year. Ah, the hypocrisy of it all. 

_ sent 6:54 PM, 12/29 _

**Jon:** [image link]

Martin clicked the link. It showed a set of beautiful emerald dice on a table, scattered over pages of notes, a sketched map, and a Dungeons and Dragons rulebook. 

**Jon:** The dice you got me being put to good use- Gerry stole them from me. He said all his players are impressed with them. I thought you’d like to know. 

Martin smiled, shaking his head slightly at his phone. He typed in the text box, deleted it, and then typed almost the exact same thing again. He sent it.

**m.k.blackwood:** i hope i’ll get to see you at the party tomorrow?

**Jon:** You too, Martin.

He was impressed, in fact, almost frightened at the speed with which Jon had replied. He slipped his phone into his back pocket and looked up at Tim and Sasha again. He could see their knees touching under the table. “Thank you, guys. Really.”

Sasha smiled. “Any time. We’re always here for you.”

Well, maybe  _ some  _ people could tolerate his presence.

\- - - - -

-12/31-

Martin pulled up to the quaint house, took the key out of his engine, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Martin never had a particularly good sense of direction. Even as a teenager, it became a reason he dreaded driving. The sat nav on his phone certainly helped things, but when it clocked out from not enough signal or the data bill he forgot to pay, the map he kept in his glove box was never quite easy to use. 

That’s why he took a wrong turn back on Main, and why that wrong turn led to an even worse turn, and suddenly he’d found himself pulled over in a car park trying his pathetic best to sort his way out to Rosie’s. Nearly an hour late, he finally stopped on the side of her road. 

He took a quick survey of the house from the outside. Definitely large enough to host a good party, but not large enough to be imposing. About fifteen cars were parked around between her driveway, the side of the street, and the opposite side, with more surely around corners or somewhere else. 

There was a buzz in his back pocket. Martin took out his phone and opened it, seeing Jon’s name in his notifications. 

**Jon:** Are you nearly here? I may or may not be struggling a bit here- parties can be horrendous things.

**Jon:** That’s not to say this party is horrendous. Rosie is a wonderful host. I don’t mean to say you shouldn’t come. 

Martin snorted at Jon’s antics and put away his phone. He’d been inside soon enough. Hopefully. 

Checking his hair again in the rearview mirror, Martin took a deep breath. Tim and Sasha’s bombardment of his flat the day before was overwhelming, and two was only a fraction of the number of people he’d be dealing with tonight. They’d expect socialization from him. They’d expect laughing politely at boomer jokes the older teachers make and light but appreciative grazing of party snacks. Shit, was he supposed to bring something? He’d never been able to pin down the etiquette of it all. Martin wasn’t a person who’d been invited to many parties in the past. 

Martin steeled himself. Jon was in there. That made going inside worth it. 

As he got out of his car, he could just faintly hear the sounds of talking and laughing from the backyard. Every light in the house seemed to be on, and he could just see the outlines of shadows through the curtains, moving around and shifting size and shape in the muffled yellow light. 

Martin knocked on the door. He almost hoped no one would hear, and then maybe he’d have an excuse to leave, but the door was opened almost right away to a smiling face. 

“Martin! Oh good, you made it,” Rosie said, pulling him into a hug. 

Martin stepped inside once they separated, and Rosie closed the door behind him. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Got a bit lost on the way here- finding new places isn’t exactly a skill of mine.”

Rosie shrugged. “It’s perfectly alright, plenty of people have told me they’ll be arriving later.”

Someone shouted from another room off to the side- “Rosie! Where do you want the trash taken?”

Rosie turned and gestured to where the voice came from. “I should go get that. Please, make yourself at home though!” And with that, Rosie was gone, leaving Martin standing in the small foyer. He could hear people talking and moving from either side branching off. He hung his coat on the rack by the door and then walked timidly into what looked to be a dining room. 

“Martin! Hey!”

Martin turned and saw Sasha waving him down from the other side of the dining room. She picked up a chip from the table and almost fully submerged it into a bowl of guacamole. Next to her was Tim, clutching onto a bottle and popping some sort of mini brownie bite into his mouth. “You made it! We were starting to wonder if you were coming,” Sasha said. 

He came a little closer. “I wouldn’t let you guys down like that- well that’s not entirely true, I almost didn’t come, but then I realized I’d eaten all the leftovers and didn’t feel like buying food on New Years,” he laughed.

Tim held his hand out for a high five. “Congrats for leaving the flat?”

Sasha looked at his hand with distaste. “And now you’re going to make him leave immediately, huh?” He put his hand down. 

“Fine. If you’re going to be such a fun spoiler. Party pooper Sasha.”

She sighed. “I need a few more glasses in me before I can handle you tonight.” She looked back at Martin. “Well, enjoy the party! I’m sure Jon will be glad to see you. Maybe you, the one and only grumpy history teacher whisperer, can get him to actually talk to people.”

They parted ways, and Martin drifted into the next room- the kitchen. A group of people he didn’t know were clustered in one corner, swirling wine in glasses and chatting with almost annoying civility. Martin turned away from them to pour his own self a glass from the bottles on the counter when he bumped into Daisy.

She obviously hadn’t been expecting him either, and glared at him with an almost snarl at first. Martin jumped back. Her expression softened when she realized who she was looking at. “Oh. Martin.”

He smiled at her. “Sorry- did I scare you?”

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Oh god, imagine  _ that.  _ Ever looked into standup comedy?”

Before she could respond, Basira stepped closer to them and grabbed onto Daisy’s arm, giving her a look. Then she turned to Martin. “Nice to see you here. We were worried.”

Martin nodded. “Well, ah- thanks. I appreciate it.” He paused. “So, uh… how’s wedding planning? I heard you found a venue?”

“Yeah, this little place in the highlands called St. Mary’s Space,” Basira said. “It’s small, but we only plan for a dozen or so to be there.”

Martin grinned. “That’s fantastic! I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

“Well, as long as  _ you’re  _ sure,” Daisy said. Basira glared at her again, and Martin shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Right…” he said. “I’ll, uh- let you guys get back to whatever you were doing! See you later!” He got out of there quickly, having learned to know when Daisy was in a particularly hostile mood. Who knew, perhaps festivities and general cheeriness did that to her. What a woman. 

Martin wove through a clump of people he didn’t know on his way to the living room, where he hoped there would be more space. Rosie furnished her house nicely- it was clean, and had beautiful hardwood floors with a tasteful rug in the living room. Martin had a strange hatred for any and all wall-to-wall carpeting. He looked through the room, which was disappointingly crowded, noticing the clear IKEA furniture. And there, alone on the sofa, was Jon. 

He had his arms crossed and looked out into the room of people with lowered eyes, as if suspicious. There were a few others he recognized- Helen and Jared, for example, standing near the wall, or Adelard perusing the bookshelves. But Martin didn’t care much to talk to them. He walked up to the sofa, without Jon noticing yet, and sat down next to him. 

“You know, the whole ‘tall, dark, and brooding’ thing doesn’t work all that well if you’re not tall in the first place. Just something to consider,” Martin said. 

Jon almost jumped at the surprise, but then calmed. “Well- that’s not  _ exactly  _ what I was going for, but glad I can cross it off the list.”

“So you’re obviously enjoying yourself.” Martin took a sip from his glass. It was better wine than he’d had in a while. Most of the time, his budget allowed for the well known variety of liqueur known as ‘boxed.’

Jon let out a short breath of air from his nose. “Perceptive, are you?”

“Oh, quite.” Martin paused, taking in the chatter of others around him. He appreciated the lack of music or even loud conversation. “I mean, it’s not  _ that _ bad. Sure, there’s a few more people than I usually like being around, but at least some of those people are our friends.”

Jon looked at him fully for the first time since they started talking. “Martin, are you… are you alright?”

Martin sighed. He was getting sick of all the ‘concern.’ A man can’t just have a depressive episode in peace these days. “ _ Yes,  _ Jon, I’m  _ fine.  _ And I’m really getting tired of everyone thinking I’m not.”

“Just- wanted to make sure,” Jon grumbled, turning away from him.

Martin looked away, then down, and then back at Jon again, trying to sort through his thoughts. “Sorry- that’s the second time in two days I’ve snapped at someone trying to help. It’s not your fault. Sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “I understand. Gets a bit frustrating, I don’t blame you. At least you didn’t sit down next to me and ask if  _ I’m  _ alright. The answer is yes, I was just trying to gauge how long I needed to stay for it to be socially acceptable, whatever that means.”

“Socially acceptable, a phrase that means pretty close to nothing,” Martin chuckled. “Well. Even if you aren’t, I’m going to go talk with a few people. Maybe if I’m nice enough to the other teachers, I can get them to stop using all the earl grey in the staff room.”

“You can try,” Jon said, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Tell me if you need blackmail information.”

Martin stood, glass in hand, ready to leave, but then looked down questioningly at Jon. “You’ve got dirt on people?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

Jon shrugged. “I’m starting to doubt you’ve ever had a conversation with Hopworth.”

“And thank god for it,” Martin grimaced, looking off at the intimidating teacher. One wouldn’t guess from looking at him that he spent all day teaching Home Ec. 

A few steps forward, and Martin was already pulled into conversation with another person. He glanced at the clock in the room- it was nearly 10:30. The door was in view from this part of the living room, but at that point, he knew it’d be best just to stay until midnight. Hopefully, Jon would stay as well. 

Helen had pulled him aside to talk. She looked between him and Jon. “So- have you two boys gotten together yet?” she asked, her voice lowered. 

Martin bristled. “I- d’you mean Jon?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, silly. All us teachers are wondering when it is going to happen. You are like watching a lifetime movie, except somehow even longer and even more boring.”

Martin sighed. He’d conversed a few times with Helen in the past, and often caught what she was implying to him, but alcohol can always bring out the strange truths in some people. Not that he entirely minded talking to her, though. She always reminded Martin of a certain eccentric student. 

“I- no, we are not together! I don’t know what everyone is waiting for. There’s- nothing there,” he lied. “We’re just friends. That’s all.”

From the corner of his eye, Martin saw the door open. He turned his head to fully look- and there was Oliver, stepping inside the house with a simple black coat that  _ somehow  _ seemed to accentuate the shape of his jaw. Martin’s shoulders involuntarily sagged. He glanced back to where Jon still sat on the sofa, idling looking at something on his phone. Jon looked up to Oliver, who’d just hung his coat on the rack, revealing a tight black dress shirt that was rolled up to his forearms. It was if he’d dressed to  _ try  _ and look as attractive as possible. Martin hesitated to admit that the effort worked. 

Jon crossed the room to Oliver in the small foyer. Martin turned away from the pair, not able to watch any more, and was met with Helen’s amused expression. “Nothing there, you said?”

“I’ll see you later, Helen,” Martin sighed, looking for a quick way out of the conversation. 

Helen raised her hand in a small wave to him, one where she moved each of her fingers. “Ciao, love!”

He navigated through the bottom floor of the house, trying to search out another place to stick for a while. He considered going outside onto the patio, where people sat at tables together and sipped drinks under string lights, but he didn’t know any of them. Maybe he’d want to talk to Melanie and Georgie, but they were nowhere to be found. Out of ideas, he went back to the dining room to try and eat a little bit of food. 

Martin picked at some of the refreshments. He’d been lying about the food thing he’d said to Tim and Sasha- his appetite was still limited to just about one grape. But eating would at least make it look like he was  _ doing  _ something. 

He dropped a couple cucumbers, some chips, and a brownie bite onto a small plate. Then he delegated himself to a chair in the corner of the room, where he’d hopefully be able to scroll through Twitter in peace. Unfortunately, twitter on New Year’s Eve is a more boring place than on most other days. 

The time on the top of his phone said it was just past eleven. Less than an hour to go.  _ Where was Jon?  _ Jon had been less-than-subtly desperate for Martin to arrive, and then was nowhere to be found. Considering Martin’s luck, he didn’t find it surprising. 

The door opened in the foyer. Martin turned and had to hold in a surprised noise when he saw Peter and Elias dusting snow off of their arms. 

Rosie popped her head around the corner of the room opposing the dining room, and she raised her eyebrows. “Uh- Mr. Bouchard- Mr. Lukas?”

Elias smiled at her. “Good evening, Rosie. Apologies for our tardiness. We did have other events to attend before coming here.”

Grimacing, Martin caught Rosie’s eye from across the foyer. He mouthed ‘did you invite them?’ at her. She shook her head. “Well- it’s uh, nice to see you, then.”

Elias shrugged off his coat and then took Peter’s. He held them out expectantly to Rosie. She frowned, took them, and hung them both on the rack behind the two men. She was out of the foyer as quickly as possible. Martin pressed himself to the wall of the dining room, hoping to remain largely unseen. 

Peter sighed in annoyance. “You know I’m not fond of parties, Elias.”

Elias rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, too many people and all, I’m  _ aware.  _ You can sulk off in a corner if you’d like.” Peter frowned at him. “If you ask if we can leave, I’m getting another divorce.”

“I can’t pay that alimony again,” Peter mumbled, and then they walked into the next room over. Martin let out a breath of relief. 

He’d finished off the food on his plate and dropped it into the rubbish bin. Martin had never been a fan of paper plates, but there wasn’t a better alternative. He drifted back into the living room, hoping to see Jon again. There was every chance he’d be reading a book from one of the many shelves. 

Upon entering the living room, he could see no sign of Jon himself, but one thing did catch his eye- Jon’s cell phone, knocked off the sofa and nearly underneath it. Martin chuckled to himself. He knew Jon would never be able to find it himself. He bent down and picked up the phone, a utilitarian but admittedly recognizable dark green Otterbox case. Martin wasn’t about to open it and intrude on Jon’s privacy, so he instead elected to try and find Jon to give it back. No matter what, it was a good excuse to see him again. 

Martin made a quick round about the downstairs. Jon was nowhere to be found. He stepped outside for a moment, shivering in the cold without a coat on, and checked there- no Jon. On his way back inside, he stumbled into Rosie again. 

“Hey Martin! Enjoying the party?” she asked. 

Martin nodded. “For sure, yeah- sorry, is it alright if I were to go upstairs? I’m trying to find Jon.” Knowing Jon, he may have felt too overwhelmed in a crowded area and gone upstairs to have a moment. He’d done similar things before- whether it was at one of their game nights, or even a lunch break. 

Rosie shrugged. “That’s alright with me. People have been up there to use the second bathroom anyway.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “Great party!” He added the last part as he was already speeding off, navigating his way back to the foyer through a few groups of people. Thankfully, Elias had cornered poor Amherst, and Martin didn’t have to worry about being stopped. 

He jogged up the stairs, clutching tightly onto the phone in his hand. First, he knocked on the door at the end of the hallway- what seemed to be the bathroom. A gruff voice he didn’t know responded. Martin squeaked out an apology and knocked on another door- there were four others in the hallway, and he had no idea which were rooms and which were closets. 

No answer to that second door. He moved onto the next. When he knocked and didn’t receive an answer, he opened it, discovering it was only a closet. Losing hope, he didn’t bother to knock on the next door. Once opened, it seemed to be Rosie’s bedroom. He closed that immediately and went across the hall to open the last. 

Martin figured that Jon probably already left, forgetting entirely about his phone. Barely thinking about it, he opened the door. 

“Oh- sorry!” Martin froze in the doorway. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He wanted to. 

Oliver has his hand tangled in Jon’s long hair, and his glasses were thrown aside onto the bed. Their knees interlocked, chests close, but other than that they were separated- their heads snapped to look at the door. Oliver let his hand fall. .

“Ah- oh! I, ah- Martin!” Jon stammered, scrambling away from Oliver and then onto his foot. Oliver looked between the two of them, still on the bed. 

Martin started to stutter, searching for words. “Sorry, I- oh god, I was just- looking for you. You- you left your phone and it- here.” He looked down, avoiding Jon’s eyes, and held out the phone. 

Jon took it. “I- Martin…”

Martin shook his head. “I’ll- sorry to uh, sorry to interrupt, I’ll just- be on my way now! Sorry.” He gave them both a fidgety smile, and crept backwards out of the room. “Right- bye! Sorry. Okay. Sorry- bye.” He shut the door with a loud  _ click.  _

Fuck. 

_ Fuck.  _

Now, out of his initial shock, Martin leaned himself against the wall. He shouldn’t be that surprised- right? They’d been a thing in the past. It was a party. Oliver looked the way he did.  _ Jon  _ looked the way he did. And besides, Martin had no claim to him. They were grown men and were allowed to have their own business. 

Why, then, did Martin feel like he was crumbling?

He had to get out of that hallway. Martin rushed down the stairs. Not even just that- he needed fresh air. Pulling on his coat, he wove through the house and to the back door. He stepped out into the blanket of darkness. 

There was no one outside anymore. Most went back in, refilling their drinks or having something to eat before preparing to watch the countdown. After all, midnight was just about a half hour away. What a way for Martin to start the new year. 

He sat down on the edge of the patio. The pavement was cool and hard under him, grounding. He looked up at the sky. It was a clear night. Fireworks would start soon, and they’d be loud and vicious, but just for now, he could see the stars without much distraction. 

Martin had been ridiculous to think Jon would choose  _ him  _ over Oliver. Quite frankly, he knew it was unrealistic to expect anyone to choose him. 

He harbored dreams of retiring in the Scottish highlands with his soulmate, looking at the sunrise every day and going on walks to look at cows. He wanted a cat and a nearby small town to get knitting supplies from, as well as a garden where he could grow fresh fruit and vegetables in the spring and summer. And somewhere along the way, he’d started incorporating Jon into this dream. It was stupid. So fucking stupid. 

The stars didn’t care, though, and that was nice. 

He heard the sliding doors open behind him, but didn’t turn to look who it was. Someone sat down next to him, a few inches away. Martin knew it was Jon without having to look. 

“Martin.”

Martin scoffed. “What, Jon?”

Jon sighed. “I- Martin. I don’t- I don’t  _ like  _ him, okay?”

“Like him?” Martin asked, shaking his head. “What, are we in seventh grade?”

“ _ Martin- _ ”

“You know, Jon, you told me you weren’t back with him. You said you didn’t plan to be.”

“I know.”

“I’m not- I’m not saying you were  _ lying,  _ but christ, Jon, I didn’t exactly expect to see you two all- all- I don’t know, slobbering up on each other in there!”

“I  _ know,  _ Martin.”

There was silence. “So… why, then?” Martin asked, smaller. Quieter. 

Jon shook his head. “To be honest, I’m- not quite sure myself. There was alcohol and- and he was  _ there.  _ He was there.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah.”

“Martin- I’m- I’m sorry.”

Martin let out a dry laugh. “What are you even sorry for?”

“I’m not actually sure,” Jon said. “But I am, still. I don’t- I don’t have feelings for Oliver, Martin. Do you trust me?”

Martin paused for a moment. Really, it was only a second or two, but those seconds stretched out as Martin turned to face Jon. He bit down on his lower lip, looking in the other man’s eyes. “I do.”

There was silence again. This time, it did stretch out for multiple minutes. Martin felt fine in the cold, but Jon shivered next to him. Martin noticed he didn’t have a coat. “Jon, where’s your jacket?”

“I came out here fairly quickly,” Jon said. “Didn’t exactly make a pit stop for my coat on the way.”

“Well you’re freezing out here,” Martin said. He shrugged off his own jacket and, with the start of a protest from Jon, draped it around his shoulders. Jon practically drowned in the thing. “There you go.”

Jon frowned and grumbled something under his breath, but pulled the coat tighter around himself.

“No thank you for me?” Martin asked, teasing him with a light push to the arm. 

“I utterly despise you,” Jon muttered. 

Martin shrugged. “Fine. Guess I’ll take that.”

There was a loud pop in the distance, and then suddenly a burst of color in the air, bright red and orange. “Oh! Fireworks!” Martin exclaimed. He craned his head up to look at the sky, and another came, exploding out in green. 

Jon looked up as well. “Martin- are you- still upset?”

Martin pursed his lips. “Just a little.”

“Alright,” Jon said. He checked his phone. “If we don’t get inside now, we won’t make it to the countdown.”

Martin shrugged. “Eh. Fuck ‘em.”

“My sentiment exactly,” Jon said, and Martin thought he could almost make out a real smile in the dark.

A few minutes later, from inside the house, they heard a loud and rhythmic shouting. 

_ “10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5!...” _

Martin leaned a little closer to Jon, their shoulders almost brushing but not quite. When they reached one, there was loud shouting and clinking. From outside, the sound was muffled, almost otherworldly; like the people inside were on a different plane of reality than the two of them. Martin watched the largest of the fireworks so far explode in the sky. 

“Happy New Year then,” Jon said. 

Martin nodded. “Yeah. You too, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. congrats if you got all the way through that i'm proud of you  
> shit took me six hours to write yeah i'm fine lmao  
> anyway, i cannot BELIEVE it's fucking JANUARY in MM, the other night i spent two hours with a bunch of papers taped up on my door with the names of the remaining months on them, and i planned them out with like four color coded markers lmao it was fucking ridiculous  
> also- i had jon kiss someone this chapter, and rather intensely as well, and i need to make a disclaimer about that! in this fic, i am definitely following canon in that jon is asexual, because ace representation is very much needed and i think it's important to his character. however, especially because of the fuckin fabric rustles, i definitely see him as an ace person who likes and is fine with kissing and such. i felt like that needed to be said.  
> alright, thank you for reading, and happy MM new year!! stay funky, and most of all stay fresh. Yeehaw!


	29. 1/02-04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo folks!! it is a brand new year in the MM world and i am straight Vibing!!! remember, the daisira wedding is coming up pretty quickly next month in the fic, so here's a daisira wedding playlist to get you in the mood for the occasion:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyeCTmaWXe1jzLI3QrV-JRC6  
> (it's currently rather short, but ever-expanding! if y'all have any recs, i wouldn't mind!)

-Agnes Montague-

-1/02-

Annabelle slumped forward in her seat and buried her head in her hands. “ _ Fuck,  _ I genuinely didn’t know you could be hungover for more than a day. God has cursed me for he knows I’m too powerful.”

Agnes patted her on the back. “No, sweetie,  _ you  _ cursed you by getting blackout drunk on New Year’s.”

“Only one way to start the year and that’s with a bang,” Annabelle said, steadily straightening herself. She made a slight groan as she did so- the old auditorium chairs didn’t do anyone any favors. 

“The bang of your head hitting the keg?” Jane asked, rolling her eyes.

“Oh you’re  _ boring.  _ Live a little, huh? What did you two do on New Year’s, resolutions and schedule out the next three months in matching Lisa Frank daily planners?”

Jane crossed her arms. “They were  _ not  _ Lisa Frank. And it was for the next six months,” she grumbled.

Laughing, Annabelle shook her head. “Oh god- it’s just too easy!”

“This is why my GPA was .2 higher than your last year,” Agnes said. 

Just as Annabelle opened her mouth, likely to issue a scathing retort, Amherst made his way to the front of the auditorium. The three of them quieted and leaned back in their seats. Jane especially watched the teacher with rapt attention, because for some reason, she actually liked him. Agnes paid attention as well- only because she wanted to know the plan for rehearsals starting this new school year. Obviously, she was a planner. 

Agnes shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Things were  _ different  _ today. Jude’s suspension lasted through the week, and without her, everything felt strange. The three of them configured themselves differently- usually, Jude sat on the end with Agnes to her right, then Annabelle, then Jane. But they’d switched to Agnes in the middle for the day (Annabelle insisted to be next to Agnes- Jane seemed disappointed to be sitting on the other side from her, but Agnes brushed it off).

For two years, the three of them had kept to themselves. They’d talk to Michael sometimes at rehearsal, but other than him, they stuck in a little pod. And yet, even after only a few months of Jude’s presence, things just felt…  _ wrong  _ without her around. Agnes knew the others probably didn’t feel that way, but she did. And it fucking sucked. 

Amherst fidgeted behind the small podium at the front of the auditorium. “So, ah- welcome back, students! From winter break. Um- are you all excited for the start of the year?”

The poor man was met with a deafening silence. In a pitying gesture, Jane smiled and showed a thumbs-up. Amherst nodded at her. “Right. Thank you, then, Jane. So uh, Georgie- Ms. Georgie, apologies- should be here any minute!” He paused and cleared his throat. “Okay. We’ll just get started then. Top of act two?”

The cast stood from their seats. As the three of them made their way to the stage, Agnes fell into step beside Annabelle. “Did I just see something moving in his hair? I think something just crawled in his hair,” Agnes said, her gaze flitting back and forth between Annabelle and Amherst, who was just beginning to settle into a first row seat.

Annabelle’s shoulders sagged. “Your words. They’re loud. Too loud. It all hurts. And I don’t know, it was probably just dandruff. He seems like a dry scalp type.”

Agnes shrugged. “I like it more than any alternatives.”

Jane separated from their group and made her way to center stage opposite Mike. As they weren’t needed, Agnes and Annabelle slipped into the wings, just barely hiding themselves behind a curtain to keep the stage visible. 

The ensemble filtered into their spots- not all had come to the rehearsal today, only those needed for the specific scenes they’d be rehearsing. Still, there was a noticeable gap where Jude was supposed to be. 

As expected, Georgie soon walked into the auditorium and set her things down on a chair near Amherst’s. She snuck a sneaking glance at his brown coat, which had always historically been dirty, but now lacked so much dirt and scuff that it nearly shined. If Agnes hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought Georgie tried to hide a snicker. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Amherst said, pulling on Georgie’s arm to bring her to a different angle. Georgie visibly flinched at the contact. The dirt that caked under Amherst’s nails seemed almost chronic. “We’ll need to figure out new spacing for some numbers, now that we’ve lost a member of the ensemble.”

Annabelle glanced to Agnes. “What member of the ensemble left?” she whispered.

“Not sure,” Agnes shrugged. “Maybe Natalie? She’s never seemed all that devoted.”

“I hope it’s Sarah, she has big future serial killer vibes.”

Agnes grimaced. “Okay,  _ don’t  _ let Julia hear you joke about that.”

Jane gave them a small wave from her spot onstage, rising up on her tip-toes to see them over Mike and the other ensemble members. She smiled at them but her eyes were almost forlorn, just barely a glimpse of something before she went back down to her heels and disappeared behind the other people. 

Agnes pursed her lips. Something seemed off. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for the pit in her stomach, other than lunch being especially shitty that day. She glanced again at the empty spot where her Jude was supposed to be, and then realized. 

\- - - - -

Georgie stopped the music at the exact right time. Two minutes more, Agnes thought, and she would’ve collapsed after the sixth consecutive time of running that song. One should not be fooled by Georgie’s lovely exterior, the woman could truly be monstrous. The five minute break she called  _ did  _ give her some points back, however.

The lack of music filled the auditorium more than an orchestra could ever hope to. Without the distraction of instruments, the panting of those onstage was clearer than ever. Next to Agnes, Annabelle quite literally dropped to the floor. 

“Remind me- to-” she said between breaths, “never- drink less than a week away from- a drama rehearsal.”

Agnes leaned her hands on her knees and tried to stretch out the back of her legs. “What if you just didn’t drink ever?”

Annabelle scoffed. “I can’t stop ruining my liver  _ now,  _ Agnes darling, that would just be pathetic. I’m in this shit to win it.”

Agnes didn’t have time to pull apart Annabelle’s strange logic. Even through an hour straight of rehearsal, the same question burned itself into her brain, circling around to repeat over and over. She stood up straight, looking longingly at Annabelle’s spot on the ground. “I need to go ask Georgie about something,” Agnes said.

“I’ve got dibs,” Annabelle called up to her. 

Agnes started walking away, but turned backwards just to glare at her. “Uh, no, you’ve got a  _ lawsuit _ .” She turned the right way around again and jogged down the steps from the stage, walking up behind Georgie. Their choreographer was flipping through a notebook.

“Um, excuse me- Ms. Georgie?”

Georgie shut her notebook and whipped around to face Agnes. “Agnes! What is it?”

Agnes bit her lip, searching for the words that would best help the situation. “Who- who’s out of the ensemble? Amherst said something about a member of the ensemble leaving, and I just- who is it?” she rambled out, very well knowing the answer. Nevertheless, a distinct burning sensation threatened to overtake her, searing from the inside out.

“Oh, Jude, of course,” Georgie said, carelessly pushing her weight into one hip. “After the stunt she pulled before break? Honestly, who else.”

Agnes exhaled. “You- you can’t make Jude leave drama!”

Georgie, hand on her hip, frowned. “From all the times we’ve spoken, you’ve seemed like a very sensible young woman, I’m sure you understand why Amherst and I feel the way we do. She broke a kid's _nose._ ”

“Can you just hear me out?” Agnes pleaded. “Sorry, I- I  _ promise  _ I can explain.”

Georgie glanced at the clock on the wall. They had about two minutes left of their break. Agnes tried to prepare her words before she said them, hoping almost desperately they would come out as intelligible. “Look, I- I was being harassed for months.  _ Years,  _ actually, by this freshman named Jack. Maxwell is a close friend of Jack’s, and all Jude was trying to do was defend me. Apparently Maxwell- said some really bad things about me, threatened me. And yeah, Jude shouldn’t have resorted to violence. She could’ve handled it better. But after such a long time of it being a problem for me, I think she just snapped when Maxwell threatened me about it. I know it’s not an excuse- but it’s an explanation.” Agnes paused. “I’m sorry.”

Georgie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She took a moment, looking down at the faded carpet of the auditorium. Time was ticking away- just under a minute was left when Georgie looked up again.

“Agnes,” she started, with tired eyes, “I do understand. I’m a woman, I’ve been harassed by guys before. It sucks. So I get it. But there has to be some consequence for Jude.”

“She was suspended and is getting about a month of detention, isn’t that enough?” Agnes asked.

Sighing, Georgie nodded. “Well, it sounds like we can’t very well let Maxwell back into drama. Okay- how about I talk to Amherst about this? Maybe-  _ just maybe,  _ okay- I can get Jude to be let back in. I am on your side here, Agnes.”

Agnes nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Georgie, really, thank you. I don’t want her to get kicked out of drama because of me.”

“I understand,” Georgie said, looking at her with a tired smile. “But now we do really have to get back to rehearsing.”

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-1/04-

As the school year continued, Martin noticed ever smaller details about the way of things at Magnus Memorial. Even about his classroom. Things were different every day, with hundreds of different and unique kids rushing about the hallways- something was bound to change, and did so constantly.

Martin didn’t ever try to return his classroom exactly to how it’d been before the school day. His bookshelves slightly shifted order sometime before the last bell, a few of the desks moved to show a different perspective of the room. His job often caused him to want to cry out in frustration on a daily basis, but when all that was over, he’d be left with the best parts.

One of the best parts was indeed sitting in his empty classroom after school. The echo of students never left it, each one always managed to make their mark somehow. Martin would turn off the lights and just let the natural sunlight filter in through the windows. 

Currently, he typed slowly on his desktop computer, drafting up a test on  _ The Great Gatsby  _ for the next week. As much as his students hated tests, he hated them more. Making them wasn’t exactly an exciting activity. He sifted through the novel, trying to pick out large plot details and character traits to insert in a multiple choice section.

Martin jumped at a sudden knock on the door. He exhaled from the surprise, and then looked up, expecting to see a student who needed him. He froze upon seeing a familiar head of long, mostly pepper, some salt hair. And then the even more familiar eyes. 

Martin looked down at his desk, starting to randomly shuffle papers together- anything to avoid his eyes. “Come in.”

Jon took no hesitation in rushing inside. He shut the door and then pressed himself up against it, with active eyes and biting his lower lip. “Uh- Martin.”

Martin sighed. “Yes, Jon?”

The two of them hadn’t spoken since New Year’s. Martin couldn’t remember speaking to much of anyone since New Year’s, other than the kids during classes or quick hellos to colleagues in the hallways. Jon and Martin crossed paths once in the parking lot before school and Martin turned in the other direction before there were even metres between them. 

Things were better than they were during break. Martin didn’t leave the house much, and definitely wasn’t eating enough, but the plants were watered. He’d answered a few texts, even taken a shower of his own volition the day before. He managed to brush his teeth at night- morning could still be a struggle. Things were steadily getting better as he dealt with loss of contact with his mother. He didn’t need Jon and his perfect smile and hair and voice to come in and ruin that again, not after New Year’s.

Jon began to twist and pull at the hair tie around his wrist. “So- um, the kids are… pretty rough after winter break, aren’t they?”

“Seems like there’s just no escape, maybe other than some sort of chronic injury. What else to do but I don’t know, gouge my eyes out?” Jon raised his eyebrows at this, and Martin scoffed. “Sorry- weird, bad joke- why are you here, Jon?”

Jon took a few steps closer but kept the desk between them. “We- we haven’t talked since New Year’s.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jon sighed. “I just wanted to know if we’re still meeting Saturday.”

“Are you still writing a book?” Martin asked, absentmindedly typing into his computer. Jon nodded. “Well, yes then.”

“Right. Great.” Jon stuffed his hands in his front pockets, looking randomly around the room. “I’ll just- leave then.”

Martin didn’t look up from his desk. “Yeah. Guess you will.”

Jon turned and went so far as to rest his hand on the doorknob. He stopped there for a moment, his head down, and Martin felt a pang of painful memory as he thought of himself doing the same in his mother’s room. He pushed it out of his mind. 

Instead of opening the door, Jon whipped back around. He ran his hand shakily through his hair, letting it halt in the tangles. “What do I have to do, Martin?

Martin truly looked up at him for the first time. “What?”

Jon let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “What do I have to do to make this up to you? I- I’m at a loss, Martin. Tell me what it is a- and I’ll do it.”

Martin shrugged. He did care, somewhere in him, something deep inside was fucking  _ screaming,  _ but he’d curated a layer of apathy over top of it. Just a bit of fog to clog what his brain knew. It made things easier.

Jon turned and paced in front of the door for a moment, hands behind his back. Martin watched with rapt attention from where he sat. He almost jumped again, for the second time in about five minutes, when Jon’s head snapped up to face him. “Let’s go together to Daisy and Basira’s wedding.”

Biting his lip, Martin leaned forward. “I-”

Jon interrupted him. “Yes, yes, I know we’re both already going, but it’s the only thing I can think of. Just- let me take you, yeah? As friends, of course, that goes without saying, and- I can get you free tickets to the next Mechs concert. Just let me do that.”

Martin was absolutely the type to hold a grudge. He’d done it many times before. Dislike didn’t fade easily from him. But here, in front of him, stood  _ Jon,  _ and he couldn’t imagine holding a true grudge against Jon- especially when the man hadn’t  _ truly  _ done anything to harm him. Yes, something felt dishonest in the situation, and Jon obviously felt bad for whatever reason, but Martin couldn’t possibly stay mad at Jon. They’d worked too hard to get to where they were. 

He nodded. “Okay- sure. We’ll go to the wedding together. That… sounds nice. I guess.”

Jon’s lips quirked up, but the smile was cut off by him pressing his lips together. He rubbed his hands on his thighs as if they were sweaty. “Ah- al- alright, then! We can uh- discuss further on Saturday. Alright. Great. I- I have to go- ACC.”

This time, he managed to actually open the door. He stopped with it propped against his back, and his smile was one of great relief, something Martin had never seen on him before. Martin planned to overthink their interaction for one to two hours that evening, probably when he’d be trying to get to sleep. 

“And uh- don’t go gouging your eyes out. Wouldn’t want to have to find yet another English teacher.”

Martin gave him a nod. “I promise I’ll do nothing of the sort. You too, Jon.”

Jon stood there for another moment, looking at Martin, and then hurried out of the room. The door closed behind him and the room once again fell silent. This time, though, it was not the echo of students, but the echo of Jon that resounded through the empty space.

Martin hummed quietly to himself as he logged out of his computer, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. He himself wasn’t sure exactly he hummed, but whatever it was, he knew it to be a love song. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading!  
> january will be a bit shorter than the other months in this fic- it's honestly more lead-up to bigger events than bigger events within it, so my planning brings it to four, maybe five chapters in total. still i hope to make things as entertaining as possible! things are indeed happening eyes emoji  
> oh also, school just started for me and i have way more dance classes than before, so pumping these out will get a little more difficult- still, i don't plan to deviate from my posting schedule, but i will let y'all know if anything changes.   
> love you guys, love your comments. stay funky and dear god please stay fresh. Yeehaw


	30. 1/12-15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was very happy today bc apparently someone recommended this fic in a discord somewhere and i? that's so strangely wonderful?? that shit's so cool y'all are great, if you're reading this you probably know who you are so thank you <333 and ofc thank you to everyone else who reads and supports this fic

-Agnes Montague-

-1/12-

With her arms spread in both directions, Annabelle plastered herself to the door. Her head was low but her eyes flitted upwards, a mischievous stance Agnes knew well. She draped herself dramatically against it- the contrast of her all-black outfit and the crisply painted white door clear in the bright winter sunlight. Small rainbow earrings jangled in time with the turns of her head. “Today, Jude, you are entering a sacred space. It is a must that you treat it with respect. With reverence, at that. Pretend that walking in here is walking through the pews for your first communion, I don’t know. You’d go into your first communion with that frown?”

Jude crossed her arms. “Considering I’m an atheist- yes?”

“Fair point, fair point, God is dead,” Annabelle nodded. “However, what I said still stands.”

Agnes shook her head, passing an amused glance to Jane, who just shrugged in return. They stood in a small clump at the end of Jane’s hallway. Annabelle had taken it upon herself to guard the door to Jane’s bedroom before Jude could even think about entering it. Even if none of them had known it, including Jane herself, the bedroom was apparently hallowed Spooky Lesbian ground and Annabelle made sure Jude knew it. 

Jane stepped forward. “Annabelle, it isn’t that big a deal, I don’t think Jude is going to trash the place her first time-”

Annabelle swiftly held up a quieting finger, and Jane fell silent immediately. Somehow the ‘hush’ finger always worked. On everyone. “Ah, Jane, but you are too humble! Where would I be without your incredibly comfortable carpet? What could I even make of my life without your collection of horror literature? Jude respects the bedroom or she doesn’t come inside.”

Agnes looked over at Jude, who was obviously desperately trying to hold in a laugh. “I- I- _respect the room,_ ” she struggled out, immediately pressing her lips together after. Annabelle nodded and stepped away from the door, a palm on the handle. 

“I’ll take that.” She pressed down and went to crack it open, but didn’t, leaving the handle like that for just a moment. Her eyes gained that mischievous glint again. 

Agnes sighed. “Open the door, Annabelle. If I wanted a theatrical production I’d watch Sims try to get through a lecture.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Annabelle huffed. She opened the door, rather anticlimactically, and stepped inside. “Welcome to lesbian headquarters.”

Jude made her way into the room, hands in her pockets, and looked around. “Well _that’s_ a questionable name. What do you get up to in here?”

Agnes smacked her arm lightly. “Studying, or at least it should be.”

“It’s- nice,” Jude said. “Good, uh. Natural light.”

Smiling, Jane looked at her. “Thank y-”

Annabelle flopped heavily onto the bed and then interrupted her. “ _Nice_? This room is my spatial lifeblood!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jane mumbled, but she couldn’t hide the warm grin spreading on her face. 

Annabelle cast her a knowing glance. “And _oh_ what a room it is. I mean, you’ve got throw pillows, houseplants, a rug that’s matted down in one very specific place and no it’s definitely not from me lying on the floor,” she said, gesturing to each object as she spoke about it. “And, of course, smuggled crystals! The vibes, Jude, they’re positive. Some people say if you hold a crystal to your ear you can even _hear_ the good vibes, like a conch shell but you’re high.”

“They’re just- pretty,” Jane laughed. “I’m feeling very attacked right now, Jude, do you want to hold a stick bug?”

“Wait- what?”

There was no further explanation offered before Jane reached into the enclosure and, with delicate care, pulled out the spindly thing that was Concierge. She let the insect take a few steps around her hand, and then to her wrist. Agnes broke away from watching Jane and instead turned to Jude, who had a slight frown on her face, one born more of rapt attention than genuine upset. 

As Jane came closer, Jude leant back. “Oh, shit, you were not joking.”

Jane bristled. “Stick insects are nothing to joke about!” She held out her arm, and Concierge held still, the small antennas pointing to Jude. “Do you want to try holding her? She’s very chill, I promise.”

Jude started to reach her hand out, pulled it back in with a wince, and then held it out again with stronger conviction. “You know? Sure.”

“Didn’t think you were the type to be scared by stick insects,” Agnes laughed. Jude glared at her but almost jumped when Concierge scuttled onto her hand.

“Ah holy fuck!” Jude exclaimed, holding her arm away from herself. Agnes held in another laugh. “How in the hell do you domesticate a stick bug?”

Jane shrugged. “Give her food. Let her bite you every once in a while, she likes that.” Jude stared at her, horrified. “I’m- I’m just joking,” she laughed, beginning to wheeze. “Concierge can’t bite.”

Jude furrowed her brows. “Concierge?”

Annabelle pointed to the bug. “That’s her name. Our girl Concierge. Lovely buggy baby.”

“You are the weirdest group of people I’ve ever met,” Jude said, shaking her head.

Shortly after this, Jane took back Concierge, becoming restlessly protective as she often did. Someone else holding Concierge for longer than two minutes seemed to be a sort of custody violation to her. She gently placed the insect back in her cage and closed the top, patting it with love. 

Agnes stood and reached into her backpack, placed beside her feet next to the bed. “So, are we finally going to do some studying? Because I _cannot_ let this physics work build up, and I’m behind on a chapter of _The Great Gatsby_ because I picked up Danny’s shift after ACC yesterday.”

Annabelle gently grabbed her shoulders and guided Agnes back to a sitting position on the bed. She crossed her arms, but Annabelle wouldn’t have it. “Bro. Take a chill.”

“What do we meet on Fridays _for_ if it isn’t doing homework?” she sighed. “I don’t have time this weekend! Or any weekend! There’s work tomorrow and then planning for the next GSA fundraiser and never even mind we have regionals for ACC in a week, and still homework on top of that, I don’t just have time to waste.”

Annabelle sat down next to her and patted her shoulder. “Okay, babe, give it just a bit of a chill for like, one second.”

“How do you manage to get things in on time?” Agnes asked. Annabelle just shrugged. 

“Eh. I don’t know. I can be persuasive. I don’t get things in on time, I get things in on _my_ time, if you know what I mean.”

Agnes shook her head. “Nope. I absolutely do not.”

Before Agnes could inquire any further as to what Annabelle could possibly have meant, Annabelle stood up and led the other three girls next to the bookshelf, resting her shoulder up against it. Agnes cast an impatient glance to her backpack on the floor.

Annabelle put her hands on her hips. “ _So,_ Jane and I have discussed this at length-” she looked at Jane, who looked down with a dusting of a blush on her cheeks, “and we believe today is finally the day.”

Agnes and Jude looked at each other. Agnes knew nothing of what Annabelle was talking about, and something unpleasant gnawed in her chest. 

Jane ran a finger on the spines of the volumes stacked on her bookshelf. She separated one from the others and then pulled it out, a well loved and thick paperback. She handed the book off the Annabelle, who in turn held it in front of Jude. 

“This right here is a little book called _Interview with the Vampire._ A classic of the entire horror genre, but especially the vampire subgroup, and indisputably a must-read for a true fan of all things spooky.”

Jude nodded. “Should I have brought my notebook? I’m sure I can squeeze this between English lectures.”

Annabelle tsked at her. “Hey now, don’t make me have second thoughts.” She held it out to Jude. “You read this if you want to be considered a Spooky Lesbian. I won’t just let anyone without a good horror foundation into our funky little group. You got it?”

Speechless, Agnes looked between the three of them. Jude took it without hesitation and flipped through the book. 

“Sorry- what now?” Agnes asked. Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

“You good, Agnes?”

Agnes switched her gaze more frantically between Jude and Annabelle. “I- wait, hold on- Annabelle, let’s talk?”

Before Annabelle had the chance to say anything, Agnes pulled at her arm and dragged her outside the bedroom, closing the door quickly and breathing out in the quiet of the hallway. Her moment of relief was shortened by the reminder of her worried thoughts. 

“Annabelle- what- the fuck?”

“If you don’t like me incessantly gatekeeping our friend group, I genuinely don’t care,” Annabelle said with a shrug. 

Agnes shook her head. “No, no, that’s not what I- Annabelle. You don’t like Jude. You have been _very_ vocal about this fact in the past. What sort of game are you playing at here? Your little manipulation matches are fun to watch against ACC opponents or when some asshole really deserves it, but- what’s going on here?”

“Nothing.”

“There has to be _something,_ some- some sort of motive!” Agnes said, gesturing wildly to the door behind them. 

Annabelle sighed. “Look, Agnes. You’re right. She isn’t and never will be my favorite person in the world. That’s a top position I think is only available to you. But Jude defended you, and- and Jack hasn’t said anything to you in weeks! Maxwell is too scared to even look in our direction! Maybe I don’t like her all that much, but if she did everything she did for you, then she deserves a place in our group. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but the friend of my friend is _also_ my friend, yeah?”

Agnes thought this over. “So you’re just… letting her in.”

“Well, she has to read a fantastic piece of literature before doing so, but yes.”

Agnes nodded, slowly processing this concept. “Right. And it’s no strings attached. No more counting of chances.”

“Nope,” Annabelle said. “There are indeed no tallies on the wall of this cell. Unless she does something to hurt you- I can tolerate her around.”

Another moment passed, silent and heavy, before Agnes opened the door again. She could now more clearly hear Jane’s quick talking, pointing to different novels in her collection, while Jude sat on the bed in front of her and pretended to nod along. 

Jane quieted when she noticed them. “Everything alright, guys?”

Agnes nodded, the edges of her mouth just climbing upward into a smile. “Yeah, actually. Pretty good.”

Jude flipped through the novel again. “Great, can’t wait to be a ‘spooky lesbian’ once I finish this in three months.”

“It’s only about 350 pages,” Annabelle said, rolling her eyes. “I think you’ll be fine.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-1/14-

_sent 8:02 PM_

**Jon:** Hey, Martin. Sorry to bother you. I have a student who needs a novel I lent you about a month ago.

**m.k.blackwood:** what book?

**Jon:** Secondhand Time, Svetlana Alexievich.

**Jon:** If I could have it back by tomorrow, that’d be great. 

**m.k.blackwood:** yeah sure ofc

Martin clicked off his phone, sighed, and then put in on the coffee table in front of him. Tim paused the game and looked across the sofa to Martin. “Mart-o, what’s up?”

He rubbed a hand partway down his face. “Jon texted.”

“About what?” Tim asked, grabbing a carton of something from the coffee table. He reached down with his head and practically inhaled a forkful of lo mein. 

A week earlier, Tim had approached Martin and suggested they do another game night. They’d lapsed off in December- coincidentally in the few weeks leading up to Christmas. But more than anything, Martin didn’t want to disappoint the man who was quickly becoming his best friend, and didn’t want to derail that either. So there they sat, on Martin’s sofa, playing a highly competitive game of Sonic and eating way too much takeout. 

“He wants me to return a book,” Martin said with a shrug.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “So, are you going to? I can’t imagine talking with him is easy after, you know, New Year’s.”

“Well, we _have_ talked a couple times since then, but I still don’t feel like-” Martin paused. “Wait. I never told you about New Year’s. How do you know about New Year’s?”

Tim looked away, as if he just gave up a secret he wasn’t supposed to. “Oh, I- heard about it from Sasha.”

“But how does _she_ know about that?”

“Sasha heard it from Rosie, I think. And then Rosie heard about it from Melanie. And Melanie was told by Georgie.”

Martin frowned. “Okay, but- that still doesn’t explain how Georgie knows?”

“Jon tells her everything,” Tim chuckled. “There have been times where everyone is in the same room and I still see Jon texting Georgie.”

“Oh, I- hadn’t really noticed,” Martin said, running through everything else in his brain that he probably hasn’t noticed. There were surely a lot. “So, pretty much everyone knows then, huh.”

Tim scrunched up his nose in thought. “I- I don’t think everyone? I don’t think Melanie told Daisy or Basira, which you should probably just be grateful for.”

“Well, I guess I still have to return it,” Martin sighed. “Which is sad. It’s a good book, but- heavy, you know? I still had a third of it left. Doesn’t matter, I guess. _Shit_ \- did you hear about the wedding?”

Tim nodded questioningly. “ _Yes,_ Martin, I have heard about _the_ wedding, it’s all our friend group can manage to talk about. I know I’m an idiot, but damn.”

“No, no, I mean- Jon and I? Going to the wedding? Together?”

“Fuck, aight. Too bad the place the wedding is happening doesn’t have overnight rooms, eh?”

Martin swatted at him. “Tim! Christ, it’s nothing like that- he just wanted to, I don’t know, make up for New Year’s?” He flopped against the back of the couch. “Doesn’t even matter anyway. He’s obviously into Oliver.”

Tim leaned in closer. “Yeah, but Oliver isn’t going to be there, is he now?”

Martin shook his head. “I guess not. But- being around him is still hard, you know? I can’t stop replaying that night in my head, shawty’s like a melody in my head except I might’ve cried a couple times.”

Tim grimaced. “Okay, first, never say that again. Second, the wedding’s in a month. Just- see how it is by then, yeah? Maybe things’ll change.”

“Yeah,” Martin nodded. “Maybe.”

\- - - - -

-1/15-

When Martin reached the door of the classroom, it was already open. He clutched the book a bit tighter in his hands. “Uh, knock knock?” He peeked his head in. 

Jon hunched over some papers on his desk, pouring over them with terrible posture as usual. His head snapped up when Martin took a step in. “Ah. Martin, hello.” He closed the door with a loud _click._

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, Martin cringing at himself. “Sorry, I hate when people say ‘knock knock’ before they go in someplace- it’s just so annoying?- so uh, sorry. Not knock knock. I don’t know. Hi Jon,” he rambled. 

Jon bit his lower lip and looked away, shaking his head slightly in amusement. He turned back to Martin. “So- you uh, brought the book?”

As if suddenly remembering what he was holding, Martin walked closer to the desk and held out the book to Jon. “Uh- yep. Only got some of the way through it, though. It’s not exactly light reading, you know, the fall of Soviet Russia. I’m ah- a bit surprised I could read it!”

Taking the book and laying it on his desk, Jon lifted his eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

“Because- in Soviet Russia, book reads you!” Martin paused. “Sorry- dumb joke.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I almost laughed,” Jon said with a shrug. 

Martin shook his head. “I absolutely don’t believe that’s true.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” Jon combed through his hair with one hand. It was one of those rare days when he wore his hair down, without any of it tied up in a messy bun or ponytail, and Martin loved the way it looked. Even after what happened between them, Martin couldn’t ignore how the soft light filtering through the windows made the grey strands in Jon’s hair glow, or the way it illuminated his eyes. He didn’t want to pay attention to these things- but stopping it proved impossible. 

Martin shuffled his feet around for a moment, hands behind his back. “Right- well, I should be letting you get back to your work, then, I guess.”

“That- would probably be best,” Jon said. Before Martin could turn, though, Jon stood. “Wait- there’s regionals for Academic Competition this Saturday, so we can’t meet, and I did want to ask- are we going in separate cars to the wedding?”

Without something to hold in his hands, Martin felt painfully bare. He turned to fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. “Ah- would you like to?”

Jon shrugged, avoiding Martin’s eyes. “Either is fine, really, but it is a long drive. You could- sleep, or something. On the way. If I drove, that is.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, sure, we can- go together then. I mean, we’re already going together, so uh, why not? I am afraid I won’t be the best- platonic- date, though. This is my disclaimer that I’m a _terrible_ dancer.”

“I’m sure you aren’t that bad,” Jon said. “If you know where to put your hands, you’ll probably be just fine.”

Martin remained quiet. 

Jon looked at him in disbelief. “You _do_ know hand placement for dancing?”

Martin searched for words. “Um- no, not really? Didn’t exactly take a university course in the subject. And- we’re both men- I am genuinely unsure of the protocol for that.”

Jon stood from his desk and put down his pen. “I can’t very well have a date that has no idea how to dance. Come, come on, over here,” he said, and began to weave through the rows of desks in his classroom until reaching a clear area behind a back table. He was framed by windows, and the sunlight poured in without obstruction on this floor, bathing him a soft glow. Martin’s mouth dried. 

“Uh- sorry?”

Jon sighed. “The wedding is barely over two weeks away and I may not see you much before then. So, over here.”

With significant trepidation, Martin found a path through the desks and stepped behind the table. He kept at least a metre between them. At least. “O...kay?”

Jon scanned Martin up and down, more with a logical intention about him than anything else. Still, the gesture made Martin squirm. He’d never been particularly appreciative of people noticeably looking at his body. He mostly preferred to throw on some clothes in the morning and then act like everything except his head simply didn’t exist. 

“Right,” Jon said, stepping closer. “I’m shorter than you.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah, you think?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jon scoffed. “I’m shorter, so your hands go around my hips, yes?”

Martin stammered for words. “Oh, I- I- uh- what?”

“You are genuinely clueless,” Jon mumbled. He took Martin’s hand and placed it just above the waistline of his pants. Martin froze at the touch. Of all the times they’d sat across from each other in the coffee shop, or talked during break, or even just been around each other, they’d never touched so directly like that. Martin still felt a small grudge somewhere in him, one that grumbled and made Martin want to storm out of the room, but that part of him was suppressed by the sheer warmth that ran through him where Jon grabbed his hand. 

And, of course, when it happened, Jon obviously wasn’t thinking that way. As it often seemed, Jon’s mind found some other plane of existence to be on, one where all this could be deemed as perfectly normal and simply Jon making sure his date didn’t embarrass the both of them. It both delighted and frightened Martin. 

He kept his hand feather light on Jon’s hip. When Jon didn’t make another move, he slowly brought his other hand to rest on the other side. Martin made sure to stay almost uncomfortably away from Jon. If they moved any closer, Martin knew he could very possibly do something he’d regret. 

“Oh- got it,” Martin said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. 

Jon nodded. “Good.” Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Martin’s neck and let them hang loosely. Martin sucked in a breath and couldn’t find the way to let it out. 

Jon’s face, less than a foot away. If Martin thought he was fucking beautiful before, he didn’t even have the slightest idea. Martin stared into those tired brown eyes and froze with his hands on bony hips. 

“You look pale, Martin,” Jon said. He spoke this as a statement, not a question- just an observation. Martin almost laughed at his obliviousness. How could Jon not tell he was nearly trembling?

“You know,” Martin said, hands unwavering on Jon’s hips, hyper aware of the hands around his neck- “if you’re still trying to make New Year’s up to me, this hasn’t quite done it yet.”

Jon frowned. “I’m not looking to make a fool of myself in front of our friends and strangers during the wedding. I can worry about making things up to you later.” Jon stepped to the side a bit, but didn’t release his hands from around Martin’s neck. Martin almost lost his balance, but then moved as well. 

“What was _that_ for?” Martin laughed.

“You not even being able to step,” Jon scoffed. “Now- to the right again.” This time, Martin moved with him. “Good. Now, I step back with my right foot, you step forward with your left.” 

With some slight struggling, Martin followed these instructions. Somehow keeping on balance while stepping so close to another person was strangely difficult. He grasped tighter to Jon’s hips to keep from knocking into him. They stepped to the side again, and then Martin went back. “Oh, Jon! I think I’m getting it!” Martin said, a smile edging its way onto his face. 

The two of them repeated the sequence again, beginning to actually dance, moving to a melody that didn’t exist. The back of the room didn’t exactly offer much space, and Martin laughed when he bumped into the window sill. Jon even managed to turn at one point, and they sprung back together as if attached to both ends of a rubber band. 

Finally, they stood still. Their hands remained in the correct places, resting there with more comfort than before. Martin glanced down at where his palms cupped the bone of Jon’s hips, as if meant to be there. He was no longer frozen. 

Jon looked up at him, making more direct eye contact than they’d had the entire time. A moment passed of them staring in the silent classroom. Light still made a halo around one half of Jon’s head, quirked slightly to the side. Martin smiled warmly down to him. “I guess a thank you is in order. I’m now just a _little_ less likely to make a fool of us both.”

Clearing his throat, Jon removed his arms from around Martin’s neck. He almost audibly made a noise of disappointment at the loss of contact. As he let his hands fall from Jon’s hips, he fully realized the extent of how fucking _touch starved_ he was. As a creature Martin thrived off human contact, and he hadn’t truly received that desired contact for longer than Martin wanted to admit. 

“When’s your student coming?” Martin asked, avoiding Jon’s eyes. 

“Should probably just be in a few minutes.” Jon quickly turned away and walked a winding path through the rows of desks and back to his own. 

Martin nodded. “Right- okay. I should get going then. For real, this time.” He crossed the room and stood in front of the door, hesitating to leave. At the last moment, he turned back to Jon, who was already at his own desk and with a pen in hand again. He pointedly did not look at Martin. 

“Jon-”

Jon looked up from his desk, but not fully at Martin. “Yes?”

He didn’t know what he’d meant to say. There were plenty of words he _wanted_ to speak, but none he feasibly could. 

Martin did want to still be upset at Jon. He’d always struggled to stay mad for long enough in the past, easily forgiving. Always nice, always caring. Martin could see the best in anyone and it had never done good things for him. But when Jon _did_ look at him, it was with such an intensity. When Jon _did_ smile or laugh at one of his jokes, Martin could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Staying upset at Jon would only hurt. 

With this in mind, he tried to let go of as much as possible. Something still stayed deep within him, an inexplicable feeling of betrayal- but he desperately wanted to ignore it. Because, as fucking ridiculous as he knew it to be, Martin was in love with Jon. Or almost in love. Or something very, very similar, and just as scary. Just as stupid. 

Martin opened the door. “Just, uh- see you later.”

He left with the first line of a poem in mind. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

_sent 3:48 PM_

spooky lesbians plus jude who needs to finish interview with the vampire

**me:** OH HOLY SHIT ALERT ALERT

**spider bitch:** What??? What????

**me:** okay so i was going to go pick up that one book from sims

**janey:**?

**me:** but i didn’t go inside because i knocked on the door and nobody answered right

**perryromaniac:** please just get to the point.

**me:** shut up But nobody answered because when i looked inside the window, sims and blackwood were fucking??? Dancing???? like full on hands on shoulders and hips slow dancing in the back of the classroom???? it was so fucking cute honestly the lil smiles on their faces like get a room boys but also i didn’t want to interrupt so i didn’t get my book

**spider bitch:** OHHH BITCH THE STAR SIGNS

**perryromaniac:** what?

**spider bitch:** Michael once said at a GSA meeting that sims and blackwood have compatible star signs jude it’s all falling into place

**janey:** the stars said it should be and so it will be!!

**perryromaniac:** first the crystals, then the star signs, is there something i should know about you guys?

**me:** like they deadass didn’t even hear me because they were so focused staring at each other. gross i love them

**spider bitch:** Okay new plan we secretly install an alexa in sims’ room and then when this happens again as i’m genuinely sure it will we send a command to it to play slow dancing in the dark and dim the lights yeah

**perryromaniac:** wait, i’m sorry- ‘new plan?’ was there an old plan you’re deciding to abandon here?

**janey:** perfect annabelle!!! can you google command fake candles? because we should definitely do that too

**me:** no no i think the stars have it all under control

**spider bitch:** Agnes the stars are gonna fucking blow it

**janey:** hey shhhh don’t say that the stars aren’t supposed to know what we’re planning be sneak sneak

**perryromaniac:** what if we… didn’t get involved in the romantic lives of our teachers?

**me:** …

**spider bitch:** …

**janey:** …

**me:** jude darling you are a funny one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i project onto jon Majorly in this chapter because I have two settings: 1) don't touch me don't touch me please get away im sorry don't touch me, or 2) my brain is all business and i forget that touching people can be weird i am so sorry i wasn't aware i wasn't Thinking like that, sorry i did a weird thing lmao didn't realize
> 
> anyway, that is the Vibe for this chapter!! i'm genuinely excited for jude to be a spooky lesbian solely so i can stop writing "SL + Jude" in my notes bc that shit's kind of getting annoying, let's just write SL and be done with it huh  
> thank you for reading my wonderful people!!! as you know, i love all of you and all of your comments, they are my motivation and happy chemicals wrapped into one! stay Funky, stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	31. 1/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, realizing i still have to write 1500 words after my 10:00 ballet class: hahaha I'm In Danger

-Agnes Montague-

-1/20-

From inside the unfamiliar auditorium, Agnes could hear a voice booming over a microphone. There was a moment of silence, then a buzzer, then another voice, until lastly muffled applause seeped through the doors. It made her stomach squirm and tangle. 

She leaned against a glass trophy case in the hallway. Next to her, Annabelle stood and squeezed Agnes’s hand. Michael stood across from them, his tall figure even more pronounced next to Sims. Sims looked down at a clipboard with a slight frown. His eyes lifted back up to the group. He crossed his arms and sighed determinedly. 

Agnes didn’t even look at Jack, who stood several feet out of their circle. Since the fight, Jack hadn’t even met Agnes’s eyes, much less talked to her. It was a welcome change. Agnes heard somewhere that he also got called down to guidance a few times, but no matter what happened, Jack wasn’t bothering her anymore. 

Sims tapped his foot. “We’ve come far. We can go even farther. And I expect you will.”

Annabelle chuckled. “Is that your version of a pep talk, Mr. Sims? Because it was pretty rad in my opinion. Really got the blood flowing.”

“I know all of you, and you do not  _ need  _ a pep talk to do well.”

The Magnus Owls had been competing at this Academic Competition quiz bowl for hours now. A small team- just four people- they didn’t have anyone to switch out, and so, unlike the other teams, each member had to participate in every match of the day. They weren’t even to their last match yet, either. This next one and then, if they won, still another to go. 

Agnes knew they could do it. Or, at least, had so much hope that she’d convinced herself. The year before the Owls made it only to the first match of regionals. But, this year, they could get there. They could get to nationals and she could feel it. 

Sims glanced down at his clipboard again. “We have ten minutes. I suggest you do whatever you need to do now before we get in there. Use the bathroom, grab a drink- et cetera. These things are only getting longer.” He paused, and looked down the hallway to where the entrance to this school could just barely be seen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Sims left and walked briskly down the hall, rounding a corner and disappearing to presumably get to the entrance. 

“Who d’ya think he’s waiting for?” Annabelle asked, turning to Agnes. 

Agnes furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“He’s obviously waiting for  _ someone _ ,” Annabelle sighed. “Can’t quite think of who that could be, though.”

Another round of polite applause came from inside the auditorium. Agnes reached down into her backpack on the ground and sifted through it. She pulled out a large, rubber-banded deck of index cards. “There are more important things to worry about right now, Annabelle. I have flashcards- let’s go over them again.”

She hurriedly began flipping through the deck and held out half of the cards to Annabelle, who just looked down at them in amusement. “Annabelle! Come on! We don’t have much time!” Agnes glanced over her shoulder and at the doors to the auditorium, dark inside like a strange abyss. 

“It’s a little late for flashcards, babe. You’ve already gone over them three times today.”

Agnes sighed. “Just- again. Please. I can’t be too careful. We have to be good, Annabelle. Great, even. Fantastic. Stunningly intelligent. Please just read off one of the fucking flashcards?” she begged. 

Annabelle gently placed a hand on Agnes’s outstretched one and pushed it down. The flashcards hung in her hand next to her hip. Agnes leaned against the wall and exhaled, looking down at the floor. Annabelle touched her shoulder. “ _ Agnes-  _ you’re the finest damn bitch in this place. Physically and intellectually. So stop freaking out and take a minute to chill, yeah? We’ll be fine.”

Her head still angled to the ground, Agnes looked up at her. “Do you think Jude is ever going to come? Like we asked her to?”

Annabelle joined her on the wall, leaning beside her. Agnes let her head fall onto the other’s shoulder. “Honestly, if she hasn’t yet, she probably won’t. You could just text her, you know.”

Agnes shook her head, as much as she could with it resting on Annabelle’s shoulder. “Nah. I- we- don’t want to seem desperate or anything. She never promised or anything, so maybe she’s busy.” Agnes paused, considering whether or not to go on about this, or to drop it. She decided on the latter. “What time is it?”

Annabelle pulled out her phone. “Uh- t-minus five minutes, give or take. And yeah, it’s still a no to the flashcards.”

“They’re good flashcards,” Agnes mumbled. 

Chuckling, Annabelle patted her head. “Yes, Agnes, I know they’re good flashcards.” They were both quiet for a moment. “Hey, Jane came to watch us at least."

“Jane’s a good friend,” Agnes sighed, leaning even more of her weight into Annabelle. 

Annabelle nodded. “Yeah. She really is, huh?”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-1/20-

Martin flipped another page. He noticed a small grammatical error in the second sentence- nothing big really, but also a mistake an English major like himself would definitely notice- and marked it with his pen. “Jude, do you remember what I said about dangling modifiers a couple weeks ago?”

He looked up at the student sitting across from him at the table. She leaned back and crossed her arms. “About what now?”

Martin sighed. “Dangling modifiers- modifying words that describe something that isn’t even in the sentence. Small detail, but it can momentarily confuse a reader.”

“We can’t have that, can we now,” Jude sighed. 

“I’ll give you a worksheet next time, yeah?”

Jude sighed again. “Well that would just be fantastic.”

Martin ignored her thinly veiled sarcasm and flipped back to the front of the pages. Despite her snark, the kid could write. He tapped a finger on the paper. “I like this one, Jude. I really do. We should research competitions for you. A couple essay ones, a short story too, and definitely ones that offer cash prizes- I know it would help, yeah?”

“I don’t think I’m going to pay my taxes with essay competitions.”

Martin shrugged. “But it’s a start, now isn’t it?”

As they’d both been busy and unable to meet after school that week, Martin had suggested they work together on a Saturday. They’d both found themselves with surprisingly clear schedules that weekend. Martin knew he wouldn’t have to go to PanoptiCoffee with Jon this week, for reasons he couldn’t quite remember. 

Jude pressed her lips together. She wore a black lipstick Martin hadn’t seen her in before. “I’ve- never been in a competition before. Any. I have a couple friends in ACC, and the whole concept makes me a bit nauseous.” She went quiet after saying that, eyes widening.

“Jude- you alright?”

She hung her head forward with a heave of her shoulders. “ _ Shit. _ ”

“Hey, language,” Martin said, before realizing how he sounded. He leaned in a little closer. “What- what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Jude straightened up in her seat again. “I- I told my friends I’d come to their tournament today. The ACC one, up in Manchester. I kind of totally forgot about it.”

The blood rushed out of Martin’s face. “Oh. I- also might’ve told someone I’d be there.”

Jude raised an eyebrow. “Sims?”

“That’s- not your business,” Martin rushed out. He ran a hand through his tangles of curls. “Right, right okay- is it over yet?”

Jude shrugged. “No clue.”

He took out his phone and searched for the tournament. Of course, it was already in his history, considering he’d  _ known  _ about it but just completely forgotten, and so he found the site quickly. He found the event information and looked at the times. “Right, the last match should end around 6:00- it’s only 4:30 now!”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have a car parked outside, Mr. Blackwood, and there’s no way in hell a bus is gonna get me there by six,” Jude said. 

Martin shook his head and scrolled through his notifications. “Christ- why didn’t Jon text me?” 

Jude rolled her eyes. “Goddamn star signs.”

“I- what?” Martin decided to brush that off and move past it. “Okay, unless there has been a very specific misfortune, I  _ do  _ have a car parked outside. The competition is about- forty five minutes away. Ah- what do you say?”

“You- want to give me a ride there?” Jude asked incredulously. 

Martin was already gathering his things. He didn’t know why he felt that he needed to go to this. Hell, if he didn’t, maybe he and Jon would be even and they could move on from all the events of the past month. But he was committed to getting over his grudge. Perhaps a forty five minute road trip with an apathetic teenager would do the trick. “Yep. Now, come on. Let’s hope they’re still actually  _ in  _ the tournament.”

Jude grabbed her papers and shoved them in a backpack. “Is this even allowed? Are you breaching some sort of weird safety code we don’t know about?”

Martin paused his packing up to think. “Not… that I know of? Do you trust me that I won’t speed us off a cliff or attack you with all my famous combative skill?”

“I’ve never seen you drive before,” Jude said. “But no way in hell would you win in a fight against me.”

“Well,  _ there’s  _ the code violation.” Martin shouldered his bag. “And yes, I’ve heard of your- your nose-breaking exploits. Violence isn’t something to be proud of, Ju-” he stopped upon seeing Jude’s unimpressed expression. Perhaps now was not the time for a lecture. He stepped aside from their table. “Right, well. Let’s get a move on then, shall we?”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

Agnes squinted at the bright stage lights. She could just see the reflections of a few pairs of glasses in the audience, one of them Sims’, who stared at the team from a few rows back. Agnes would’ve made reassuring eye contact if she could see his eyes. The Owls were a few points ahead of the other team, but not a large lead by any means. They were barely into the match- there was much work to do, and the win could go to either team yet. 

A man stood behind a podium at the corner of the stage and flipped a paper. He was old and balding, squinting through half moon spectacles at the packet of questions. 

“This character calls himself a ”shy” and ”diffident” man whom others see as “an arbitrary overbearing

bossing kind of person.” This man, who employs a housekeeper named Mrs. Pearce, throws a ring into a fireplace and curses the time he spent with a “heartless guttersnipe.” His rivals include a Hungarian named Nepommuck, who speaks 32 languages. In the Covent Garden flower market, Colonel Pickering  makes a bet with—for 10 points—what phonetics professor who trains Eliza Doolittle in  _ Pygmalion _ ?”

Almost immediately after the question ended, Agnes smacked her hand down on the buzzer. The man nodded at her. “Owls.”

She brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. “Dr. Henry Higgins.”

The man leaned into the microphone. “That is correct.”

Ten points were added to the chalkboard on the edge of the stage, and Agnes breathed a sigh of relief. Annabelle smiled at her, and seemed to say  _ I told you so.  _ Agnes knew her well enough by now to understand that by just a look. 

Jude hadn’t come. Agnes would’ve known if she did- the auditorium door opened and a bit of light spilled in whenever someone quietly entered. Even in the shadow of the house, Agnes would’ve recognized her right away. But she couldn’t let this phase her. They had a match to win. 

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin could see Jude squirming in her seat. “Are we almost there?”

Martin checked the sat nav. “Uh- define ‘almost?’”

Jude sighed. “It’s been half an hour. We can’t go any faster?”

“Jude, if we die in a fiery wreck of metal and smoke and literary talent, I can’t imagine I’ll be able to keep my job.”

She huffed and looked out the window. “You’re right, because we’ll be dead. In a fiery wreck of metal. And smoke- and literary talent. But then we’d at least have an  _ excuse  _ for not being there. Plus, I’d say there are worse ways to go than fiery wrecks, so why not get it over with now?”

Martin shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Okay, well, you’re welcome to get in a fiery wreck anytime you’re not my responsibility. I probably should’ve asked you this earlier, but did you tell a parent where you’re going?”

“Uh, no,” Jude snorted. 

Martin turned on his turn signal and sighed. “Jude, I told you to do that when we started driving.”

“No  _ offense  _ Mr. Blackwood, but nobody I know genuinely gives a shit,” Jude said. “I think the only people who would are currently onstage, answering endless pointless trivia questions. So I’d like for you to drive a little faster.”

Martin looked at her from the side of his eye. “I’m your teacher- you really shouldn’t be talking to me that way. And we get there when we get there, yeah?"

Jude crossed her arms. “Yeah. Fine.”

The car fell silent. The two of them likely would’ve remained quiet, had Martin not come to a full halt behind another vehicle in front of them on the motorway. The already pervasive silence sunk in further as the car barely made any sound, just idling in place. Jude leaned forward to try to get a look above the other cars, stretching out before them in a long line.

“What’s happening?” she asked, craning her neck. 

Martin let go of the steering wheel and fell back onto his seat. “Seems we’ve hit a jam.”

Immediately, Jude pulled out her phone and started frantically looking for something. “Come on, come on, there  _ has  _ to be another way there,” she grumbled at the screen. 

Martin lightly put his foot down on the petal and the car shifted forward by a metre or two, the only amount of progress the other cars around them made. He glanced at the navigation system. “There’s no exit for nearly a kilometre. We just- have to wait it out.”

Usually, he would’ve been panicking as well, but those emotions weren’t spilling out of him like they often did. It felt similar to most of his other feelings the past few weeks. Simply nothing.

Jude glared at him. “We’ve been driving nearly an  _ hour,  _ Mr. Blackwood, there’s only another thirty minutes before the competition ends. We’d be damn lucky to get there even before the team leaves.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?!” Martin huffed. The car made another few metres of progress. “Hopefully we’ll be through it soon, we leave off the next exit, but other than that, I’ve got nothing.”

Jude nodded. “Successful trip, Blackwood. I’ll be rating your services five stars for  _ sure _ .”

Martin looked out from the window and up at the grey skies of January. The line of cars before them stretched until the road gradually bended, the end out of sight. He sighed. “I’m doing my best.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

The last question.

Agnes knew they’d win- it wasn’t an issue. With a lead like theirs, no ten point question could bring them down. They’d won the match and the other team knew it. She could see the defeat in their eyes, a delicious sight. 

This wasn’t just any match, either. The Owls made it through the prior match just barely, coming out less than twenty points above the other team, but the amount of points didn’t truly matter. What mattered was that they were about to win regionals. 

Sure, Jude hadn’t bothered to come witness their victory- the first Owls team to go to nationals in decades. Agnes waited all of the break between the two matches, and as much as she hated to admit it, started the last match distracted, hoping against all hope that Jude would come into the auditorium and fill it with heat and light the way she did with any room. 

But really, it was okay. Agnes helped bring her team to victory without her support. 

The man behind the podium squinted closely at the last question. “For ten points, what mathematician coined the term ‘fractal’ in 1975?”

Michael hit the buzzer. Agnes watched as the other team looked at each other, and she relished the knowingness of their loss. She felt there to be nothing better than watching someone who already knew they’d lost lose even more. “Benoit Mandelbrot.”

And they’d won. 

Everything was a blur- the sound of chalk and then applause, motion around her, the lights flickering to life over the audience and then the undercurrent of chatter. Agnes moved from sitting to standing without even thinking about. She shook hands with the other team, absentmindedly muttering “good game, good game,” and trying her best to absorb what just happened. 

The realization struck her as Annabelle’s strong arms wrapped around Agnes’s ribcage. She made a struggling noise. “Annabelle- air-”

Annabelle let go of Agnes, a beaming smile on her face. “Agnes! Nationals! We’re going to  _ nationals _ !” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her feet. 

“Holy shit,” Agnes said. “We’re- we’re going to  _ nationals _ .”

“Hell yeah we are!” Annabelle pumped her fist in the air. She grabbed Agnes’s wrist and led the stunned girl off the stage and into the audience, where Sims and Gerry already stood. Michael wasn’t far behind. 

Sims smiled- a true, real smile. “Nationals, then.”

Annabelle gripped Agnes’s wrist even tighter. “Oh my god- nationals!”

Agnes turned and watched Gerry and Michael excitedly embrace. They shared a quick kiss, which Michael obviously couldn’t bother to extend- the grin on his face didn’t allow for it. Even Gerry smiled, a rare sight. Agnes couldn’t be sure what her face was doing. 

“Michael- fantastic job on that last question,” Annabelle said, giving him a short hug. 

“And you as well,” Michael said, dipping his head to her. “Your expertise goes far.”

Meeting her eyes, Annabelle pulled Agnes into a side hug. “Me? Uh, how about we talk about my friend Agnes here, who seems to know every question related to literature and science  _ ever. _ ”

Agnes blushed, not a difficult thing to do with her pale and freckled skin. “We- we all did well. We each played our equal parts.” Annabelle quirked her head over to where Jack spoke with his family- Agnes gave her a small laugh. 

From the other side of the auditorium, the door opened loudly as if pushed violently. Agnes’s head snapped over to it out of instinct, and her breath hitched in her chest. 

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “A little late for her to arrive, don’t you think?”

Into the auditorium walked an unlikely pair. First was Jude, her dark eyes surveying the auditorium. Mr. Blackwood entered behind her. He was slightly out of breath and took a moment to lean against the wall, before his gaze landed on Sims. 

In barely a moment, Jude crossed the room and Agnes instinctually separated from the rest of the group. They stood face to face in the aisle and despite it all, Agnes couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Well- sorry to tell you it’s over,” Agnes said, cracking a small smile. 

Jude’s shoulders dropped. “God, really? I- we tried to get here as fast as we could, you know, but then there was a traffic jam, and-  _ sorry,  _ I guess.” She paused. “Did… did you guys win?”

Agnes nodded. “Yep. We’re going to nationals, I guess.”

“You don’t seem particularly enthused,” Jude said, scanning her up and down with arms crossed. 

From the corner of her eye, Agnes saw Jane join the rest of the group, and Sims walk quickly away. Agnes shrugged. “I- I am. I am. I’m excited.”

Jude shook her head. “You know I’ve  _ met  _ you before, yeah? So tell me what’s wrong.”

Before Agnes could answer, Annabelle popped up beside her. She crossed her arms as well, staring Jude down. “Jude. Nice of you to join us.”

Agnes gave Annabelle a warning look, but the other girl didn’t pay much attention. She went on. “You could’ve texted, you know, Agnes has been waiting for ages to see if you’d bother to show-”

Agnes interrupted her. “It’s  _ fine,  _ Annabelle. She got stuck in traffic.”

Annabelle looked between them both, and then sighed. “Right. Fine. Well, we still won, so that’s very much cause to celebrate. 

“Yeah,” Agnes said quietly. 

Suddenly feeling unsteady on her feet, Agnes slid into the seat next to where they stood in the aisle. The other two looked at her questioningly. She rubbed a hand down her face, trying to awaken the right emotions within her. 

Annabelle took a few steps closer to her. “Agnes- you alright?”

Agnes nodded, hiding her face which began to burn. “I’m- great! Why wouldn’t I be? We just- we just won. We won. We’re going to nationals.”

She tried to discreetly wipe away the tear that started to run down her cheek. She had no idea  _ why  _ it got there, but it did, and she had to hide it, she had to override whatever strange conflict she was feeling. But neither Annabelle nor Jude seemed to see through this thin facade. 

Tentatively, Jude placed her hand on Agnes’s shoulder. It filled her with a comfortable and familiar heat, one that caused her heart rate to lower just a bit. “ _ Agnes. _ ”

Agnes wiped away another tear as soon as it formed and stared down at her feet. “No, I just- we’re going to nationals. We  _ have  _ to go to nationals. I- I want to go to nationals!”

Annabelle dropped to her knees in front of Agnes and without hesitation took her hands away from her face. Annabelle tucked a strand of wild red hair behind Agnes’s ear, who folded up her arms and bent forward, but relaxed into the touch. Annabelle sighed. “Agnes- you’re doing too much, yeah? Obviously you’re happy about nationals, but it’s just another stressful thing now too. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed, sometimes.”

In a strange turn of emotion, Agnes began to chuckle. “Feel overwhelmed? I want to get to  _ Oxford,  _ Annabelle, you know that. I don’t get there by- by leaving my responsibilities just because I can’t get my shit under control!”

Jude let her hand travel from Agnes’s shoulder to her back and then the other shoulder, a light touch but secure. “College isn’t everything, Agnes. You come first.”

Agnes shook her head. “Easy for you to say.”

Jude bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Annabelle looked back between the two of them. Agnes shook her head. “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean it like that. That came out wrong.”

Biting her lower lip, Jude took her hand off Agnes. She had to hold in a disappointed noise at the lack of contact. “No. I don’t think it did.”

Glaring at her, Annabelle placed a hand on Agnes’s knee. The touch was nice and reassuring, but didn’t quite hold the same warmth as Jude’s, or the same electricity. “Jude, now’s not really the time,” Annabelle sighed. 

“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back,” Jude said. She turned and left Agnes and Annabelle alone. 

Annabelle looked back at Agnes. “That was fun. Do- do you want something from the vending machine? I have like five pounds left. If a pack of oreos doesn’t help stress, then I don’t know what does,” she said, a weak attempt at a joke. 

Agnes shook her head. “ _ Please,  _ don’t worry about me, okay? I’m fine, just- needed to get that out of my system. Thanks, Annabelle, but I don’t want to put a damper on today. You should go talk to Jane, it looks like she’s waiting.”

Annabelle opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and paused before speaking. “I- sure. If that’s what you want. How about you and Jane and I find somewhere cheap and trashy to get dinner later? Some celebratory junk food and all that, ruining our insides and such.”

Nodding, Agnes gave her a weak smile. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll- I’ll be there in a moment, just taking a minute to regroup.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

Martin’s mouth lost all its moisture as Jon speed walked up to him, moving like a 5’4 lorry on a collision course. 

“Jon- hey,” he said, having just barely caught his breath from rushing into the auditorium. 

Jon scuffed his feet against the dull carpet of the auditorium. “You- came.”

“Just a bit late, but yes,” Martin said, giving him a small smile. “Sorry about that, by the way- we would’ve been here in time for the last match but we hit some bad traffic, it- it doesn’t matter, I guess. I just… apologize.”

Jon breathed out through his nose, a long and heavy exhale that couldn’t quite be classified by  _ sigh.  _ “It’s fine, Martin. Genuinely I’m surprised you showed at all.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

Jon shrugged, only slightly. “Just- after this week, really, I wasn’t… quite sure, is all.”

Martin would feign ignorance, but he knew exactly what Jon was talking about. After the slow dance fiasco of Monday- and it truly had been a fiasco, at least for him- Martin avoided Jon. He’d done so both consciously and subconsciously, because he knew, he  _ knew,  _ that if he got close to Jon after what they’d shared, Martin would do something stupid. Something incredibly, wholly moronic. And so avoidance was better than the alternative. 

“Oh, I- yeah. I get that, then.” Martin shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m gathering your team won?”

Jon nodded, and for once he smiled for real. Martin tried to take in the sight, snapshotting it to remember. Jon did look beautiful when he smiled. Granted, he always did, but something about the change from usual did wonders to brighten up his usually tired expression, making some part of his exhausted eyes lively again. “We did. We’ll be heading to nationals in March, in London.”

“That’s- incredible!” Martin said. “I’ll actually have to arrive on time to that one, huh?”

“You really don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It’s- fine.”

Martin pressed his lips together. “I- I do. Want to.”

“Oh,” Jon said. “In that case- well, good. I should be getting back to my students. I’ll- meet you after?”

“Yeah, um- sounds great,” Martin said. “And again- congratulations. You’ll probably be hearing a lot of that for a while.”

Jon looked down, and then back up at Martin, a warm smile on his face. The gesture made Martin’s stomach swirl around. “Then good to get it started now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely got nothing for y'all tonight im so fumkin tired  
> physically i am stuck in my house mentally i am on the wolf359 space station beep boop beep boop vroom ahhhh  
> thank all of you so much. stay funky, stay fresh. Yeehaw


	32. 1/27-30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual but i didn't really want to waste a bunch of time on a chapter that doesn't have any mid level or big events? anyway enjoy an enby who is afraid of guns and never been to a shooting range and hating cops trying to write this chapter after very minimal research (out of fear for my youtube recommendations getting fucked up)

-Martin Blackwood-

-1/27-

“I am deeply terrified.”

Martin stared at the wall, on which hung an organizer. At least fifty firearms were attached to the rack. The whole scene looked like something he’d only see in a film- sometimes he genuinely forgot that guns exist outside of a fictional context. The whole concept made him embarrassingly fidgety. 

Unlike Martin, Daisy was fully in her element at the shooting range. She chatted familiarly with a man behind the desk, leaning forward on her elbows as if the range and her home were one and the same. 

Jon stood nervously a couple metres away from Martin, decidedly avoiding the fucking wall of guns. Martin looked at him with a gesture to the wall. “And what exactly drove you to organize a shooting range bachelorette party?”

Jon shrugged. “It’s what she wanted. At least it’s a controlled environment.”

“I don’t know what you’re all complaining about!” Tim sauntered up from behind them, holding a gun that pointed down and wearing glasses that fit close to his face. Combined with a Hawaiin shirt, the man looked truly ridiculous, in a way only Tim could. “This place lit as  _ fuck _ .”

Jon cringed. “Please- never say that again.”

“You know, holding a gun makes me feel vaguely homophobic. I’ve touched a glock and maybe the gays aren’t all that great,” Tim said, looking up and off into the distance. 

Martin snorted. “Tim- aren’t you bisexual?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tim said, nodding. “But if Elias can be a homophobic gay guy, why not me too?” He took a few steps away to inspect another gun on the organizer. 

In front of another wall, Melanie and Georgie both talked to a worker and were handed guns, nodding at things the person helping them said. Jon and Martin glanced at each other with an equal hesitation to participate. 

A moment later, Daisy arrived at their wall with a man next to her that Martin had never met. She held the largest firearm of any of them, letting it hang at her side with an almost disturbing comfort. The man next to her did the same. She looked at him, and then Martin and Jon. “This is Isaac,” she said, gesturing to him. “My old partner on the force.”

Isaac switched the gun to his left hand and held out the other to Martin. He had close cropped hair, something akin to a long buzzcut, and the beginnings of grey at his temples. Martin quickly wiped his palm on his trousers and then shook his hand. Isaac’s hand was strong and the shake firm- Martin let go just a moment after, intimidated. 

“Martin- that’s me, sorry- nice to meet you, Isaac,” he said, stepping back quickly. 

Jon shook Isaac’s hand with only slightly more confidence. “I’m uh- Jon.”

Isaac did that weird clasp only straight men do around Jon’s hand and smiled at him. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Jon.”

Jon recoiled a little but managed a small smile. “Likely not good things, if it was Daisy doing the talking.”

Daisy punched Jon’s arm, and Jon winced almost imperceptibly. “I’d put it at least at decent.”

“I’ll take that,” Jon said. 

Isaac clapped Daisy’s shoulder, harder than one would expect, but Daisy had no reaction to the assault. She just smiled at him- Martin sometimes doubted that woman could feel pain. “Well, Dais, should we get to the range?”

Martin looked over at Jon and mouthed  _ Dais?  _ Jon returned his question with an equally bewildered expression. 

“You two ready?” Daisy asked. 

Jon avoided her gaze. “Not- not quite yet, I don’t think. We’ll be there in just a moment.”

Daisy shrugged at this and she left with Isaac, turning down a hallway to where Martin could hear the vague sound of a gunshot. He flinched at the sound. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard a shot fired in real life,” Martin mused. “Doesn’t exactly help the whole ‘terrified’ thing?”

“When you’re around Daisy a lot, you get used to it,” Jon said. “I once said hello to her from behind and she nearly attacked me with a knife. Can’t say she doesn’t scare me a  _ bit,  _ despite me being her best man.”

Martin leaned forward to look at the guns again, testing to see if his fear had decreased anyway, but it quickly became clear he was just as frightened. He took a step back. “I would’ve thought you of all people, Jon, would hate being here. The noise and all.”

Jon bit his lower lip. “I- the headphones are supposed to help. I don’t exactly know  _ much _ about all this but I do know that.”

Between the beat of their conversation, the man from behind the desk walked up to them with eyebrows raised. “You two need some help?”

Martin looked at Jon, and then himself. Jon wore a knitted sweater vest and had his hair tied back in a messy bun, small strands of hair falling out and framing his face. Martin fidgeted with the hem of a soft pastel jumper. Clearly, neither of them were the type to regularly spend an afternoon at the shooting range. He couldn’t blame the man for his reaction. 

“Um- yes?” Martin said. “Honestly, just give me whatever will make me  _ least  _ likely to accidentally shoot myself in the foot, not metaphorically.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be alright. We’ve never had a casualty here and plan to keep it that way.” He carefully used a tool to unlatch a specific gun from the wall. He switched it onto the safety lock and took a pair of glasses from behind the desk, holding them both out to Martin. “A nine millimeter glock is a good one to start with. I’ll get the same for your friend here,” he said, inclining his head to Jon. 

Martin, with much trepidation, wrapped his hand lightly around the handle of the gun. The metal felt cold and dense under his fingertips. He slid the safety glasses on and held the firearm loosely, not letting a single finger stray near the trigger, even if it had been latched on to safety mode. 

-

Martin fired another clean shot at the piece of paper, took off one side of his headphones, and smiled at the rest of the group. “I’m doing okay!” he said, looking between them and the bit of paper he fired through. Sure, it was nowhere near the smallest circle, but he hadn’t missed the target completely- and that was something. 

Daisy crossed her arms and dropped her weight to one hip. “Not bad for a first timer.” She slid the headphones back up on her ears and stepped into her own section of the range. Only Jon remained near Martin, still gingerly holding the gun he was yet to try and shoot. 

Martin fired again. This time, he actually hit one of the circles on the target- it was the outermost circle, but a circle nonetheless. He again undid one side of the noise cancelling headphones and motioned for Jon to do the same. “Jon- do you want to try? I swear it gets less horrifying every time you do it.”

“Oh, wonderful, desensitization,” Jon said, sighing. “Once, then. Only because it’s Daisy’s party.”

Martin smiled and stepped aside, letting Jon take his spot. He switched on the safety mode again and watched Jon hold up his own gun, an almost humorous sight. Martin resisted the urge to take a picture- everyone be on high alert, the tired academic history teacher has a glock! Nothing goes better with guns than sweater vests, square glasses, and dark circles, after all. 

Jon fired once and recoiled as if surprised, letting out a small yelp in the process. Martin tried not to laugh- not that he’d been far better. The bullet hadn’t gone anywhere near the target on either of their first tries. 

“You can’t slouch like you usually do, Jon,” Martin said. 

Jon scoffed at him with the gun still raised. “Because you're the reigning firearm expert.”

“Hey, you’ve done it once, which means I’m still a good four times above you in expertise.”

A small smile on his face, Jon shot the gun again, barely even trying to aim. Martin sighed. “Okay, now  _ two  _ times more than you. But really, you’ll just hurt yourself by slouching.” He reached out and gently pushed Jon’s rounded shoulder back. Jon looked at him with questioning eyes, but didn’t move away from the touch. 

“And… what else do I need to do?” Jon asked.

Martin pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well, I saw a diagram that said you should hold it a little above shoulder height?” Jon nodded and lifted the gun. “Yeah- and uh, your hands aren’t quite what they said to do,” Martin said, looking closer to see how he held the handle. 

Jon looked between the gun and Martin. “Well, in that case, do tell.”

For a moment, Martin struggled to think of a way to explain it like one of the workers had before he’d gotten into the range. Unable to, he instead decided to reach out and change the positioning himself. Martin took one of Jon’s hands and cupped it around the bottom of the handle, noticing the stark contrast between the warmth of Jon’s skin and the cold metal under it. The contact ignited small sparks where Martin touched Jon, and he was once again reminded of the ever-constant tangling and swirling in his stomach when around Jon. 

Another few seconds of Martin’s hand on top of Jon’s, and only because neither of them moved even a centimetre.

Martin suddenly remembered the two of them dancing in Jon’s classroom and pulled his hand away. More than that, he remembered exactly what all his terrible ideas and urges were, the ones that would fuck him over if he stood next to Jon for even just another second. “I- is there a restroom here? I should- then I should go drop this back off at the desk I guess then, I- right. You’re good, then.” 

Bewildered, likely by Martin’s sudden change in tone, Jon looked at him. “Uh- yeah, I’m uh- I’m fine,” Jon stammered. “I- thank you?”

Martin nodded and hurried away. Melanie stopped to ask if he was okay, because apparently he didn’t look to be so, but Martin answered quickly and skirted around her to get back to the main room. 

Back to the desks and the terrifying walls of guns, Martin took a full breath for the first time in minutes. He set the glasses and the glock back on top of the desk and sat down on a bench on the other side of the room. Martin breathed in and out slowly again, hoping desperately to quiet all of his pesky emotions. 

In his hurry, Martin hadn’t even noticed Daisy sitting on the next bench over. She leaned her elbows on her thighs and stared blankly forward into space. Her short, dirty blonde hair fell into her scarred face, an effect that only intensified the look in her eyes. Martin couldn’t tell if she’d even noticed him. 

“Daisy- you alright?” Martin asked. Despite his own state, it was  _ her  _ bachelorette party. 

She snapped out of her stare and looked over at him, seeming almost disoriented. “What, Martin?”

“Just asking if you’re okay. You seem a bit… distracted?” Martin said, ignoring the irony of distraction and his current situation. 

Daisy shrugged. “I- yeah. I’m fine. Just- thinking.”

“About what?”

“I’m fucking get married in a few weeks here, that’s what,” Daisy snapped. She paused for a moment and then let out a breath. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have snapped or whatever. Basira’s helping me do that less.”

“It’s- fine, really,” Martin said. He certainly understood Jon’s fears of Daisy. 

Daisy rubbed her palm down her face. “I don’t get scared very often, Martin.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, that’s a memo I totally did get.”

“But this- scares me.”

“Getting married?” Martin paused. “But you’ve seemed pretty excited to me.”

Daisy sighed. “ _ Yes,  _ I’m excited, fucking obviously, but it’s a- a lifelong commitment! There isn’t much scarier than that.”

Martin nearly grumbled  _ you,  _ or even  _ police brutality  _ under his breath, but decided to leave all that until after the wedding. 

“That’s- understandable,” Martin said. “But you and Basira are all weird and perfect for each other. It’ll- it’ll work out, yeah? I know it will.”

“Yeah.” Daisy met his eyes, the frown on her face becoming less intense. “I think it will.”   
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-1/30-

-Agnes Montague-

Magnus GSA

**spider bitch:** Yeah, i agree with that, Agnes. We need to move up the timeframe for the PanoptiCoffee fundraiser

**JuliaM:** wait, i don’t get this. why do we need to do it so soon? i thought we were getting some steady funds from the gofundme and fundrazr

**spider bitch:** Not enough. If we want the board to dish out for a contractor, I can’t keep just showing them fifteen pity quid a week from someone’s grandparents

**m ich ae l:** ah, I see. Pity money From anyon e othe than a grnadoarent wilL not Suffice?

**MCArson:** if the pity quid were ranging about in the 500s, then yes, that would be fine, but unless someone’s got rich relatives i’m pretty sure we’re still fucked

**janey:** rich relative check?

**PlasticGender:** I Know People In The Circus!

**me:** ok nikola for sure

**spider bitch:** So that’s a no on the rich relatives. In that case, I vote we move the PanoptiCoffee fundraiser up to next month instead of april or may like we were thinking

**me:** do you think james will be okay with that?

**spider bitch:** He’s usually pretty chill, we’ll organize it anyway

**me:** oh, yeah, ‘we’

**JuliaM:** don’t get testy now, girls

**spider bitch:** it’s fine idc i fully plan to get high and forget everything we’re currently talking about

**MCArson:** let’s get back to the point?

**MichA el:** seems like thT ebets idea tio me

**janey:** we can let Banks know during advisory today

**spider bitch:** Ooh do y’all think Banks is gonna have Sims this time? Sims came in last week to ‘talk’ (seemed very awkward ngl) and deadass didn’t realize we were in the middle of gsa

**MCArson:** knowing him, i’m pretty sure sims won’t want to be there

**JuliaM:** oh yeah i forgot you two are besties or smthn

**PlasticGender:** Not Weird At All!

**mIchaek:** you Knowk, it i;s really no t

**miblke:** sism vcna b eenjoyba ke to vb around

**janey:** sorry, what now?

**MCArson:** oh he said ‘sims can be enjoyable to be around’

**me:** i’m glad we have you to translate, gerry

**spider bitch:** so everyone is in favor of moving up fundraiser plans?

**janey:** aye?

**spider bitch:** jane’s vote counts for all of yours so we’re good then

**me:** fuck this is gonnna be stressful

**PlasticGender:** : )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all for today folks, thank you so much for reading!! i feel like interest in this fic is going down (which makes sense because it's very long and slow burn) but honestly that's okay because more than anything i write this fic bc i enjoy it and bc i know a few people out there also really enjoy it and that's enough for me <333  
> nikola got three lines in this chapter but i think they were ideal  
> and yes, the gsa has a group chat, and yes, 'MCArson' is gerry doing a play on words for mcr, fuck you. stay Funky! stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	33. 2/03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding: Part One  
> there has been too much lead up to this event for it all to be one chapter, so i am separating it into two!!  
> these bitches gay,,, good for them  
> small daisira wedding playlist thing: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyeCTmaWXe1jzLI3QrV-JRC6  
> and also the general MM playlist again: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyemTaP5AWaM5UPy9WdJ-MJy

-Martin Blackwood-

-2/3-

Martin does not like coffee. It’s too bitter for him, and always has been. Even when there’s milk or a metric ton of sugar dumped into it, the flavor just doesn’t  _ work  _ for him. Tea was better, and caffeinated tea usually worked just as well. 

That was, until the morning of February the third. Martin wished he had some coffee on hand. 

Nine thirty in the morning, Martin heard a honk from outside his flat. He responded to the piercing sound with an exhausted groan of his own. Pulling on a thick jacket, he opened his door and made sure one last time he had everything he needed. Part of him wanted to pretend he’d forgotten something and go right back inside to spend another wonderful thirty seconds in his bed. He resisted this urge and locked the door, jogging down the front steps and into the biting cold of an English morning in February. 

Jon’s car sat idling beside the curb. Martin wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and opened the door to the car. With a sigh, he flopped down into the passenger side seat.

Jon looked far too nice for it being this early. One glance at him in the driver’s seat, and Martin fought to keep down the rush in his stomach. Jon usually wasn’t one to put all that much effort into his appearance- but they were heading to a wedding, and with a rough use of the colloquialism, ‘cleaned up nicely.’ Better than nicely. He’d combed out his hair and it fell without tangle to his shoulders. Instead of knitted, he wore a real vest, dark grey with- a  _ tie.  _ Hunter green. Strange, but good. 

With a questioning glance to the side, Jon raised an eyebrow at Martin. “You alright, Martin?”

He nodded and leaned his head back against the seat. He caught a whiff of cedar. “Uh- fine. Just a bit exhausted is all. How are you so functional this early?”

Jon started to drive. He took a glance at the dashboard clock. “It’s nine thirty, not exactly dawn. We’d usually be in school by now, anyways.”

“Yeah, but it’s a  _ Saturday _ ,” Martin sighed. “Do you know what I do on Friday nights?”

Jon grimaced. “Well, no, not exactly.”

Martin decided to ignore the slightly weird phrasing of his question. “I stay awake until about three o’clock, Jon, it’s quite close to a religion. Being out of bed by noon on a Saturday is frankly just unspeakable.”

“You could’ve gone to sleep earlier this once,” Jon said. He leaned forward to look and then took a turn. 

Martin shook his head. “Not how that works, Sims. I’m a man of my ways. Christ, why did Daisy and Basira have to pick a place five hours away from here anyway?”

“Apparently it was rather inexpensive,” Jon shrugged. “And small. Small enough for just about a dozen guests, at least. And wonderful scenery- I imagine the mountains in the background make all the effort worth it.”

Martin crossed his arms. “Yeah. If we don’t get trapped by snow at the place and go all Donner party on each other.”

Jon let out one short laugh. “I’m very quickly regretting the ‘volunteering to take you on a drive for five hours’ move.”

“You watch it or I’ll fully stop making tea for you in the break room,” Martin snapped. “Sorry. It’s early.” He pulled one leg onto the seat and held it, letting his head relax into the soft cloth behind it. Maybe he could do better than those thirty extra seconds he longed for on his bed. 

Jon seemed to be thinking about the same thing. “If you slept now, would you be any more  _ agreeable  _ upon waking up?”

Martin settled further into the seat, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles it made in his suit. “Maybe. Yes,” he mumbled. When Martin glanced over to the side, Jon had a small smile on his face, his eyes flicking once over to Martin. 

He’d planned for this drive. Martin was going to ask about Oliver for the first time since New Years, really get it out into the open. The talk would hopefully either fully rid him of that persistent little grudge, or make him feel justified. His phone’s notes app even had a page labeled  _ what to talk about  _ with bullet points.

But then again, Jon’s seats were comfy. It was early and the car bumped on the road with a soothing bounce. His eyes closed, slowly.

A sudden jolt woke Martin. He banged his head against the glass of the window and subsequently groaned. 

“You’re awake,” Jon said. 

Martin put a palm to the side of his head where the collision had happened. “Turns out a nice little bump in the road makes an effective alarm clock. How close are we to being there?”

Jon glanced at the sat nav. “Ah- you managed to sleep for about four and a half hours, somehow, so close.”

That would make it nearly one. Sounded about right for Martin’s usual schedule. He sat up a little straighter and stretched out his legs. “Sorry you had to deal with me sleeping for four and a half hours. I can’t imagine  _ that  _ would be enjoyable.

“Wasn’t too bad,” Jon shrugged. “You only snore a  _ bit. _ ”

Martin looked at him, aghast. “A- a  _ bit _ ?! What do you mean _?  _ I don’t snore!”

Jon let out a small chuckle, one he was obviously trying to hold him. “Apologies, Martin- but you do. No shame in a clogged windpipe.”

With a quieter groan, Martin leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. It really was just like him to  _ snore  _ for four hours in front of the man he was very unfortunately in love with.

He decided to bypass that last thought. 

A slightly awkward half hour, plus a few wrong turns later, Jon drove them up to a small building, constructed of stone and with church glass windows. It stood out from a backdrop of green mountain that turned to snow at the cap, white against a blue sky. Jon pulled the key from the ignition and they both sat there for a moment, looking out the windshield and marveling. 

“You were right,” Martin breathed. “This is worth five hours.”

“Of which you experienced about half of one,” Jon said. 

Martin shrugged. “Well, then it was worth a half hour as well.” Finally free of his shock at the landscape, Martin opened the door of the car and stood on the cobbled drive. A wind blew through the low valley they were nestled in. He stretched his arms up, stiff from the ride. 

There was a reason he wanted to live here when he grew older. Not by himself, of course; that’d be lonely. And he’d experienced far too much loneliness before, still did. A husband, a cat. That’s all he really needed. A look out of the corner of his eye to Jon, just a quick glance before he turned away. Martin knew it all to be a silly, hopeless dream- and that was okay. Sometimes he needed an unattainable dream to just keep going. 

Martin smoothed out his shirt and checked his curly hair in the window, as if he could do anything about the inevitable tangles at this point. 

Jon looked down at a wristwatch- when did he ever wear a watch-  _ it did look good on him though _ \- and then back up at Martin. “We did get here a few minutes later than expected- probably that wrong turn back there. Ceremony should be starting in a little over twenty minutes.”

“Better get in there, then,” Martin said, and they started toward the door of the building. The cold mountain air felt good to him, refreshing even, but he couldn’t help but notice Jon shivering. “At least it’s small, though. No big rehearsals and such.”

Jon nodded with his arms wrapped around his front. Swiftly, he opened the door and ducked inside, immediately releasing some tension. Martin followed behind and the door closed an inch from his heels as he stood in place to admire the interior.

Stained glass windows of the highlands shed a bright light into the main room, illuminating a couple short rows of white chairs. At the front of the room, a small stand and a piece of canvas marked where the ceremony was supposed to happen. The air buzzed with a hopeful and electric energy as Martin scanned the faces of his friends. His best friends, all there for Daisy and Basira. 

Sasha noticed them first. “Martin! Jon! You’re here!” 

They exchanged a glance and then Martin stepped sheepishly forward to the others, a group of more smiling faces than he’d ever seen before. He didn’t know a few of the people, and they talked in small clumps amongst themselves. Tim came up to them alongside Sasha and gave Martin an affectionate clap on the back. 

“Mart-o! Did you guys get here alright?”

Before he could answer, there was a shout from Georgie at the front of the room. “You two came together?” she called back to them. 

Jon’s face reddened a bit and he mouthed something to her. She smirked back at him and turned to Melanie again, talking emphatically about something. Jon cleared his throat. “Yes, ah- we got a bit lost for a few minutes, but- we’re here. Obviously.”

Tim and Sasha ushered them to the chairs. He found an empty chair next to Tim, one that coincidentally had another empty seat beside it, and draped his jacket around the back. With a quick look around the other chairs that were already full, Jon sat down in the chair next to Martin’s. 

Martin breathed in the restless air. “So, ah- where are the brides?”

Turning around to face him in her chair, Melanie tilted her head to a door at the side of the room. “Basira’s getting ready in that room over there. Daisy’s got the one on the other side.”

He heard a small chuckle from next to him. He looked to see Jon typing on his phone, shaking his head at something. In front of Martin, Georgie held in a giggle as well. Melanie leaned over to check her phone screen and then glanced back at Jon. “Seriously, Georgie, Jon is sitting right behind you, why are you texting him?”

Jon’s head snapped up. “Ah- oh.”

With a look at Jon’s phone, which certainly was a chat message with the name  _ Georgie  _ as the contact, Martin laughed. “You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Timidly, Jon turned off his phone and slipped it into his back pocket. They were less than fifteen minutes away from the projected start of the ceremony. Standing and smoothing out a wrinkle in her pants, Melanie sighed. “I should probably go help Basira, as her ‘best woman.’ I’ll see you later, Georgie?”

As a parting, Georgie leaned her head up to peck Melanie on the lips. In shock, Martin watched Melanie walk away.

“When- when did that happen?” he whispered to Jon.

Jon raised his eyebrows. “You really have been missing a lot of our group activities. I believe they began dating at the start of January.”

Martin slid a little further down in his seat. “Wow. Okay. I mean, that’s amazing for them, and we all saw it coming- and you’re okay with that?”

“Why… wouldn’t I be?” Jon asked. 

Martin shrugged. “You know, ex, friend, dating, it- well, I really don’t know.”

“Georgie and I are very much in the past,” Jon said. “We dated back in uni, which, for me at least, was ten years ago at this point. No, no, it’s quite alright with me.” He paused. “I- should get to Daisy.”

Nodding, Martin pushed back in his seat to let Jon through the row. “I’ll- see you, then.”

Soon Jon disappeared into Daisy’s dressing room, and Martin was left alone, fidgeting with his rather uncomfortable clothes. He didn’t like the way suits looked on him. In a jumper, he could wear one a bit oversized and drown in it, losing the silhouette of his frame. But a suit seemed to only accentuate the parts of himself he liked least. Waiting for his friends’ ceremony to begin in a stunning venue, and of course, all he could think about was the way  _ he  _ looked.  _ Typical. _

Tim leaned in to whisper loudly in his ear. “Looking  _ fine,  _ Mart-o. You gonna finally make a move today?”

“What?” Martin asked, recoiling. “Uh-  _ no.  _ No, no, no. Absolutely not. I can be a bit idiotic, Tim, but I’m not going to tell him I- I have feelings for him- when he’s obviously hung up on Oliver. You’re fantastic at bad ideas, you know that?”

Tim crossed his arms and gave a small shrug. “Suit yourself.  _ I  _ think he’s into you.”

Martin snorted. “Well, Stoker, you’ve been wrong about a lot before. Remember at the start of the year when you tried to yell at God while drunk?”

“Yeah, yeah, point taken,” he pouted. 

They waited a few more minutes in silence. At one point, Martin pulled out his phone to check the time- less than ten minutes until the ceremony was supposed to begin. The small group of people in the chairs began to grow restless, waiting for any sign from the officiant or from one of the doors that led into Daisy and Basira’s separate rooms. 

While admiring a particularly intricate stained glass window, someone tapped Martin on the shoulder. He jumped, exhaled, and then turned around to see a panicked Melanie. “Melanie- everything okay?”

Melanie shook her emphatically. “Basira’s- having some trouble? I don’t know. I’m not good at this kind of thing. Apparently Daisy is ready to go, but Basira won’t- I don’t know! I don’t  _ know.  _ You’re good at talking to people, Martin.”

He bristled. “I- am not good at talking to people? I would call myself less than decent at talking to people, Melanie.”

She sighed. “You’re the best of what we have. Would you rather I send Tim in? Or  _ Jon,  _ god forbid?”

Martin gestured to several seats down, where Sasha conversed with someone he didn’t know. “Sasha is a licensed guidance counselor. She can talk to people. And like- well.”

Melanie shook her head again. “Can’t bring Sasha in. If I pull out the big guns, Basira will know we’re trying to therapize her, and you know Basira- that’ll just annoy her. Just _ try,  _ yeah? I’ll even throw in a comment to Jon about how hot you look.”

Martin groaned. “ _ Everyone,  _ I swear-”

“So will you talk to her?” Melanie interrupted.

“If you take out the comment to Jon part, then- sure,” Martin said. 

Melanie let her head fall back and her fists close in a pose of small victory. “Ugh, thank you, Martin. I owe you my life. I’d stab someone for you.”

Standing up, Martin gave her an incredulous look. “That- won’t be necessary?”

She shrugged. “Just an offer. Now, go, save the day, I don’t know.”

Martin squeezed out of the row of chairs and confirmed that he was heading to the right door. He knocked on it and, upon hearing no answer, opened it slowly. 

The room had a large, stained glass window, and rays of light filtered through it and fell onto Basira’s white dress, illuminating it in an otherworldly glow. The shimmer traveled from a flowing headscarf to intricate lace on the shoulders. The design moved and shifted down her arms, a slight sparkle to it in the winter sunlight. She sat on a bench at a table with closed eyes. 

Upon Martin closing the door, she opened her eyes. “Martin?”

He leaned nervously against the door. “Just, uh- making sure everything is alright? Yeah.”

Unexpectedly, Basira let out a small, tired chuckle, leaning forward onto her elbows that slid on the shifting silky fabric of her dress. She shook her head. “Melanie sent in reinforcements, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

A beat passed, a moment of awkward silence. A particle of dust passed before Martin’s eyes, glowing in the light. “What’s going on, Basira?” he asked. “There-  _ is  _ always the small chance I could help.”

Basira stared at the ground. “I can’t do it, Martin.”

Martin took a step forward. “Do what?”

“ _ Get married.  _ I- I don’t think I can.”

“Oh.”

Martin breathed out, a heavy exhale in the strangely silent room. The chatting of those in the main room faded away and they were left with the utter silence of the highlands. The only sound was the slight shifting of her dress, flowing with her every movement. 

“You love Daisy, Basira. So much. I know it, we- we all know it.”

Basira smiled. “Yeah. You’re right. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“Does that include marrying her?” Martin asked. After a moment of silence he sat down beside her on the bench, at least a metre away because of the dress. One of his fingers traced the divots in the wooden tabletop. “It’s- normal to be nervous. I think it would actually be more worrying if you  _ weren’t  _ nervous. This is big, Basira. And big, life-changing things- they’re scary, yeah?”

“I’m a  _ wreck _ , Martin,” she said. “Not this scared. I shouldn’t be this scared.” For the first time, Martin noticed a small, folded piece of paper in her hands. She rubbed a thumb over the flat side of it. 

“Can I let you in on something?” Martin asked. 

“Go for it,” Basira shrugged.

“Daisy was  _ also  _ a wreck. At her bachelorette party. Just as nervous as you are now. Honestly, I doubt she’s doing much better right now.”

Basira bit her lower lip. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just a few seconds that felt as if they stretched out and out. “I can’t stop shaking. I wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn ring fell off.”

“Nothing incredible and nothing important comes with composure,” Martin said. “When I started my job at Magnus- I was so nervous. The day before, I actually threw up from anxiety, it was that bad. But this job- christ, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I met all of you through it, I met our students.” He paused. “I- I found Jon through this job. And I felt like I couldn’t even step foot inside the school. Of course, being interviewed by Elias didn’t exactly help much of anything, but most of it was me. So much fear. But you just have to take that leap, Basira, because you’ll never be as happy as you could be if you don’t.”

“When did you get so eloquent?” Basira asked. 

Martin smiled at her. “Oh, I write poetry. Might be helping,” he chuckled. He gestured to the paper in her hands. “What’s that?”

She looked down at her hands. “My vows, actually. I- they don’t feel good enough. I’m not really a writer. I teach math, for god’s sake.”

“Would it- would it help if I read them over?” Martin asked. 

Basira nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” She passed the folded paper to Martin and turned away from him, staring down at the floor again. 

Martin unfolded the paper. His eyes scanned the handwritten lines, once and then twice over. He smiled and folded them up again. “They’re beautiful, Basira.”

“Are they?”

“Absolutely.”

More dust floated through the air. A ray of sun shone clear and defined through the air, thickened by particles and the smell of wood. Basira exhaled deeply next to him. “Yeah. Okay. I- I think I can get married.”

Martin couldn’t restrain himself from throwing his arms around Basira, making sure to avoid any and all makeup on her face. She was stiff under his embrace but softened after a few seconds. He separated from her and smiled. “You’ve got this, Basira. Now go get married, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! a very exciting thing- this chapter marks this fic being over halfway done now! a good and bad thing, because i love writing this fic and i love that you guys read it and don't want it to ever finish (don't worry it will), but also a good thing because i'm going to feel so accomplished when i finish it. (however, hint hint, the magnus memorial story may not end as soon as you might think... that's all i'm saying for now) :)  
> tune in next chapter for some good wlw content and some good awkward jonmartin content oh yeahhhhhh  
> as always stay Funky and whooooaa stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	34. 2/03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's The Wedding: Part Two!!  
> featuring gross cops and extended sounds of jonmartin  
> cw for misgendering, implied abuse, smoking, and parental death

-Martin Blackwood-

-2/3-

As the orange rays of sunset lit the room, Daisy and Basira’s lips connected, their white clothes lit by the fiery light. Martin watched with moist and blurry eyes as they held in the embrace for a hanging moment. 

Even Tim had misty eyes from their vows, said only minutes earlier. He discreetly wiped a finger under his lash line and leaned forward. A smile grew on Martin’s face and the two women in front of them separated. 

He’d never seen Daisy with such a smile before. If she found something funny, the edges of her mouth would quirk up but nothing more. Even laughs were done with closed lips. When she did really smile, the expression held a hint of malice, a vague but always clear threat glistening in her eyes. 

Today, though- she smiled. Truly and deeply, her eyes holding no threats, only a slight moisture. 

Basira never seemed the cheeriest person either. Always the voice of reason between the two, even if a bit cynical at times. They kept each other balanced, with Daisy to act quickly and with certainty in the needed moments, Basira there to dial it back when necessary. 

The officiant said something, something  _ wife and wife _ , but the words were drowned out by the loud cheering and applause of the people in attendance. They may not have been many, but they were mighty. Tim especially whooped at them. Sasha next to him glanced over with a look of fond amusement, but clapped as well. 

Martin didn’t have the ability in his throat at that moment to make those kinds of cheers, but he did clap, his gaze flitting to Jon beside Daisy for just a moment. As the best man, he’d stood beside Daisy the entire ceremony, a permanent small but fond smile lighting up his face. Melanie mirrored him on the other side. 

Daisy and Basira turned to those sitting, their white outfits brushing against each other as they stood with interlocked hands. Basira’s dress fell gracefully around her, but Daisy had opted for a long and flowing jumpsuit. Martin remembered exactly what she’d said about the choice-  _ seems more practical to me, doesn’t it? I do like  _ moving,  _ you know. _ The two of them really were meant for each other. 

And just liked that, they were married. The first of any of Martin’s friends to be so. After that, he knew, there’d only be more marriages and home buying and- oh dear god- children. Martin felt horribly behind on it all. Of their group, he was the only one without a significant other. Daisy and Basira, Tim and Sasha, Melanie and Georgie, Jon and- Oliver. Well, at least Martin had his houseplants. Yay for companionship.

Martin didn’t dwell long on these thoughts, though, as soon there were congratulations and hugs exchanged, all wide smiles and stammering voices. He was surprised by an enthusiastic embrace from Basira- such things didn’t happen often- but he melted into it and patted her back. “I did tell you you could do it,” he whispered. 

The two of them pulled apart but remained close. Basira pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yeah, Martin, you- were right. I  _ did  _ get married."

“Well that’s just the easy part,” Martin joked. When he saw Basira’s expression, he changed his tone. “Not that I’d know, I- I’ve never  _ been  _ married. You’re definitely more of an expert than I am!" He paused. "Please ignore me.”

She shrugged and flashed him another smile. “I’m just- messing with you. You’re a good friend, Martin.”

“You too, Basira.” He’d never experienced a heart-to-heart with a Basira before that day, but didn’t mind it. Perhaps the married life did suit her well. She was soon descended upon by two people Martin didn’t know, and he took it as his cue to walk away- straight into Jon. Martin stumbled back in the crowded space. 

“You- did really well during the ceremony,” Martin said. “That feels like- like a really weird compliment now that I say it out loud, but- congratulations as the best man?”

Jon nodded to him. “Ah- thank you. I should be helping Daisy.”

Without another word, he walked away, and Martin was left standing there, speechless. Before he could process the meaning of the brevity of that conversation, he felt a familiar clap on his back. Tim managed to sweep him along back into the general group, where Basira and Daisy stood in front of them. Despite his brief words, Jon definitely didn’t seem to be ‘helping’ Daisy. 

Basira gestured to the back of the main room, where a couple people were setting up trays and plates on a large table. “Now that the ceremony is over, because we’re both living on a teacher’s salary and don’t exactly have trust funds, you all know we’re having the reception here as well, so- there’s food in the back if anyone would like some.”

Interlocking their hands once again, Daisy jumped in. “ _ Again,  _ teacher’s salary, so no lobster or filet mignon for all you  _ also  _ poor assholes here. However, we are offering- spanakopita and mini quiches.”

Considering they were a small, tolerant company, every attendee held their peace and there was a general migration to the back of the room. Martin turned to follow when Tim tapped him on the shoulder. “Yo- Mart-o? How do you feel about helping us clear out the chairs and set up the dance floor?”

Although the words  _ dance floor  _ made his heart rate elevate, Martin worked alongside Tim and Melanie to pick up each chair and bring it into the room Basira had gotten dressed in earlier. With such a small number of guests, they finished in only a few minutes. Still, by the time they were done, everyone else had managed to make their way to the table of food. Martin brushed his sweating hands off on his trousers and looked at the clear area of the floor. 

“So- where’s the dance floor?” Martin asked, taking a quick survey of the less-than-large room. It was narrower than it was wider, more than spacious enough to accommodate a dozen or so people and some food and furniture, but not so much so that a dance floor could possibly be hiding out of sight. 

Melanie led them both to Daisy’s prep room and then to a rolled up material in the corner. She picked up a roll of tape sitting next to it. “Easy prep- a bit heavy, though.”

Tim immediately stepped behind the large roll and gripped one end. His gaze flitted between Melanie and Martin. Martin, who hadn’t yet realized the meaning of this interaction, understood. “Oh! You need me to uh- help carry it?”

Melanie snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, I think I’ve about got it.” She passed him the roll of tape. “You can tape it down as we smooth it out.”

He took the tape, trying to quickly shake off the likely accidental, but thinly veiled comment about his- strength. “Right. Got it.”

After about ten minutes, they’d managed to tape down the dance floor in the main room, and not without some help from other guests- mostly the few Martin didn’t know, apparently some from the police station and some from Basira’s mosque. He’d decided to put his moral and social dislike of police away for the evening to keep things pleasant for Daisy and Basira, but it hadn’t exactly been the easiest decision. 

Soon the speakers were connected and plugged in. A song Martin didn’t know played from the box, a female voice rising through the air like a siren, the beat up tempo but with a bittersweet lag. He liked it, but didn’t care much to ask the song’s title. As other people floated over to the dance floor- Tim making more of an energetic jog- he moved to the food area. Much less daunting. 

He slid a couple mini quiches onto his plate, along with some vegetables and chips. He respected Daisy and Basira’s small, assumedly inexpensive wedding, with only their closest friends and just enough food to keep one functioning far too late into the night. 

Martin had been one of those kids who’d thought about his wedding constantly. If Pinterest were available in the nineties, there would’ve been multiple boards related to differing color schemes for a multitude of settings. If nothing else, the idea had been an escape for him- a day to commemorate someone who loved  _ him  _ and only him. Someone who just simply loved him. 

His quiche-driven flash to the past was interrupted by a gruff hello from beside him. Martin turned and almost jumped at a man standing nearby, who only scanned him up and down with an incredulous look, biting into a chip. Martin’s shoulders relaxed from their tense position. 

“Are you Martin?” he asked, just a moment after swallowing. 

A deer in the headlights, a goat in the gates if you will, Martin nodded. 

The man smiled and held out his hand. “Leo Altman, a friend from the force. Nice to finally meet you.”

Martin set down his plate and shook the man’s hand. Leo’s firm shake reminded him of Isaac’s, who also happened to be in attendance. “Finally?” he asked. 

Leo released his hand. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Daisy and Basira. That goes for most of the other teachers as well, but since you’re new, you’re quite the standout.”

With a calming exhale, Martin gave him a small smile. “Ah- yes! I’m, uh, a new teacher this year.”

“That’s good. I heard the teacher you’ve replaced, uh-” Leo made an interesting, more than slightly insensitive gesture- “you know.”

Martin nodded, suddenly looking for any way out of this interaction. Everyone else visible was twirling around somewhere on the dance floor, and he felt remarkably alone in this room full of people. “Uh- yep,” he said, an uncomfortable laugh leaking its way out of him. 

“She was an interesting case at the station,” Leo said, shifting his weight to one side and leaning against the table. “A ton of us thought the kid was guilty, bein’ so angry and goth and all, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge- her?”

Martin almost made a disgusted noise at Leo. “Uh-  _ him.  _ Gerard. He’s a really good kid, you know.” He tried to back away a bit, to perhaps send a hint, but to no avail. 

Someone cleared their throat behind Martin. “Ah, Martin- could you help me with something? Right now.”

Martin turned and sighed in relief at the sight of Jon. “Yeah, sure thing, Jon.” He looked back at Leo. “ _ Great  _ meeting you Leo, but I have to go. I’ll see you later.” He hurried away from Leo as quickly as possible, following Jon to the edge of the room. 

With an air of nervousness, Martin surveyed the room. “What did you need my help with?”

Jon let out one short laugh. “Um- nothing. Just looked like you were… a bit cornered there.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Martin said. With a rush of relieved tension, he laughed. “Thank you, then. I- appreciate that. Doesn’t seem my kind of person. Actually, he definitely isn’t.”

“That was more than clear,” Jon said. “Listen- I’ve been meaning to ta-”

Before he could finish, Jon was interrupted by a sharp  _ tang  _ from the front of the room. Martin’s head snapped to look at where Melanie stood with a fork clanging against a glass. Jon audibly sighed in assumed frustration, but stopped talking to listen. Martin’s curiosity burnt with the question of what Jon was planning to say. 

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Melanie shouted, as if quieting a large crowd. The room of about a dozen people looked at each other, already silent. She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, let me have a moment. Anyway, Daisy and Basira are about to emerge once more from their dressing rooms in far more comfortable attire- and as they do, we present- the  _ cake _ !”

The sound of squealing wheels filled the room, and Martin turned to watch a small cart being pushed in by the two people who’d been setting up the food earlier- he assumed them to be the small venue’s owners. 

A part of Martin knew he’d feel bad about eating such a beautiful artwork. A ring of intricate flowers decorated the edges of the sleek, modern cake, two perfect circles of white frosting. If they’d spent less than expected on other expenses, they hadn’t done so on this cake. 

There were pictures taken of Daisy and Basira’s first bite, each dressed nicely in white but without the various encumberments of usual wedding attire. Jon cut the pieces for them, despite him being the last person anyone sane would trust with a knife. 

Basira insisted quickly on everyone getting a piece, and so they each stood around the table with a piece of cappuccino-hazelnut cake in hand, twelve forks digging into the culinary masterpiece Martin considered this cake to be. He actively tuned back into the conversation, something he’d failed to do thus far. 

Sasha took a bite of the cake and looked to Daisy and Basira. “This is  _ incredible,  _ you two. You’ll have to give me the name of the bakery for when I’m sure this someday happens for me,” she laughed. 

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Please inform me of your intentions with that statement, Sash.”

She shrugged. “You take it how you want. It is strange, though- we’ve liked, started the ‘process’ now. A bunch of us are going to get married and have kids and- oh god, are we getting old?"

Georgie shook her head emphatically. “Uh- no. Absolutely not. I am in the  _ prime  _ of my youth here.”

“Shame you don’t have a bouquet to throw,” Melanie laughed. “Perhaps an outdated tradition could inform us of who’s next!”

“Oh god, do we even want to know?” Leo found his way into the conversation. “From what I’ve heard, my personal bet is Jon and Martin.”

The group went quiet, until there was a noise from the quiet end where Jon stood. He choked on a piece of cake, but then managed to swallow it with some clear effort. Martin just froze. 

A couple of their friends in the circle did their best to laugh off the obviously uncomfortable subject, but Jon set down his plate and ran a hand through his hair, still less wild than usual. He fumbled for something in his pocket. “I- I’m gonna go have a- a cigarette, I-” he pivoted on his heel and walked quickly to the door. He was out in barely a moment, the door closing to a darkening sky. Many eyes turned to look at Martin. 

Leo grimaced. “Oh, should I- not have said that? I thought you two-” the group glared at him. “Right. Got it.”

Hesitantly, they each began to finish off their slice of cake. Martin wanted to shrink into a microscopically small ball. Maybe he could switch his choice of profession to ‘atom’- he’d heard that thirty wasn’t too late to change careers. He tried to bypass the moment with as little awkwardness as possible, but the gaping hole Jon left at the table became more and more noticeable every second. 

They’d stacked their plates and were beginning to disperse again when Martin realized Jon had never come back inside. Part of him knew Jon probably needed space, and it would be best to give him that. However, Martin  _ also  _ knew that Jon often forgot important information and very possibly could have driven away without realizing he was still Martin’s ride. 

Martin grabbed his jacket and, still pulling it on, opened the doors to the building and stepped outside. After five o’clock in February, the sun had already set, with just the very last remnants of red outlining the mountains. For a moment, Martin let himself stand still, washed over by the chilling wind and clean highland air. 

He didn’t see Jon anywhere at first, but his car was still parked there, and without anyone inside. Martin sighed, his breath blowing out in faint white. He rounded the corner of the old stone building. First, he noticed the smoke, and then the man beneath it. 

_ Martin went down the outside steps, and as he turned a corner of the school building, was hit by the acrid smell of smoke. That prideful, happy feeling dissipated as soon as he saw Jon leaning against the school building. He held a lit cigarette and breathed out a puff of smoke. _

_ He would be lying if Martin were to say he didn’t stop to look at the way Jon’s slender frame relaxed against the brick, long hair falling back and away from his face raised to the sun. He looked contemplative, heavy, the smoke rising to the sky like his gaze.  _

From five months earlier- Martin recognized this scene. Except now, his stomach flipped upon seeing Jon, and not out of frustration or dislike. Now, he saw a different person. Still with the same disgusting smelling smoke, rising grey against a much more picturesque background. 

Martin took a few steps closer to Jon. Only then did the other man notice him, and he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth upon doing so, its orange end a strange light in the dark landscape. Martin pulled his jacket tighter- it was cold, even for Martin. 

“Jon- hey.”

Jon frowned. “We really do have to stop talking outside in the cold so much. Especially under such recurring circumstances.”

“It is beautiful though,” Martin said, taking a tentative step closer. He and Jon stood about a metre apart. Suddenly exhausted, Martin leaned against the uneven stone wall. 

Nodding, Jon brought the cigarette to his lips again. He let out a rising puff. “That it is.”

Martin understood Jon’s- reasons to be upset. He wondered if Jon had texted Oliver about it yet, or if he’d decided to wait to see him in person. Either way, if Martin were seeing someone else,  _ he  _ wouldn’t want a marriage prediction about himself and another man. 

About to ask the same question, Martin was surprised by the one he received. Jon sighed. “Martin, I- are you- alright?”

Martin gave him a look. “Okay, sorry, but I totally think I should be asking that question.”

Jon shook his head. “I’m not- talking about tonight. In general. In the past month, you’ve- well. It’s been different. I know part of it, I’m not quite _ that _ thick, but it’s changed with the others too. I just- why? What did we do?”

“Nothing,” Martin said. “Not really. I- none of it is the fault of our friends. Or, if I’m being honest, even you.”

“Then  _ what _ ?” Jon asked, on the edge of snapping. He took a breath. “Sorry, I just- Martin. What is it?”

Martin spoke without thinking. “My mother, Jon. It’s my mother.”

“I- oh.” With a short hum, Jon put out his cigarette, and the orange light was gone. They were left in mostly darkness, illuminated only by the last indignant reds in the sky and the stars. “Your mother.”

Martin shrugged. “She told me on Christmas that she never wants to see me again. I told her I’m gay, she told me to leave and not come back.”

“Shit,  _ Martin,  _ I-” Jon paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Makes things make a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” Martin leant back against the wall and lifted his head to the stars, his eyes scanning over their particular pinpricks of light. “You know, I’ve always hated her. I’d take care of her, I dropped out of school for her, I paid the bills for the retirement home and visited almost every week. I’ve hated her my whole life. And now, now that I can’t see her, I- I weirdly miss her, and I hate that about me.”

Martin hadn’t spoken to anyone about this. He’d ranted in the mirror and inside his head, but the closest he’d gotten was vaguely explaining the situation to Sasha, the day before New Year’s. If he kept looking to the sky, he could pretend he was talking to anyone, and not spilling everything out in front of Jon. Not that he didn’t want to do the latter at times. 

He continued. “I don’t know what I did to make her so angry. I- I’ve seen pictures, pictures of my father, and yes there’s a  _ resemblance,  _ but I’m not him. What- what he did, whatever that was, wasn’t  _ my  _ fault, was it? Is her anger even my fault?” He sighed. “Not seeing her is probably for the better anyway. I just- always wanted to be rid of her, and then now- it’s just weird that she’s  _ gone  _ to me now.”

A beat of silence. Neither looked at each other, but instead gravitated to the sky. It was a clear night. 

Jon nodded. “My parents died when I was a kid. I was- very young.”

“Oh, Jon I’m- so sorry.”

Jon waved away his apology. “It’s- fine. I don’t remember them anyway. My grandmother raised me. I do remember one thing though, a small thing- my mother’s smile. That’s it. My mother had this sari, though, passed down in my family for generations. It was beautiful, really, gold and deep red. That dress was the only thing she’d left for me. And, as soon as I was tall enough, my grandmother made me wear it. She’d have me wear it for nice dinners, reunions with other family I don’t remember, the like. She would always say- I looked  _ so much  _ like my mum in it. 

“I hated the thing. Despised it, really. I hated everything my grandmother put me in, it all felt so dreadfully  _ wrong.  _ At least I did end up figuring out why. But for years, I hated the only thing my mother left me. The only piece of her I had, and I dreamt of getting rid of it, everything it stood for. Once I moved out, I forgot about it, somehow. When my grandmother died, a couple years ago now- I had to go through all her things. Sort them through, what to keep, throw out, donate, et cetera, all rather depressing as one could guess. I found the sari then. And despite how I’d felt growing up, I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s still in the back of my closet, I know exactly where.” He sighed. “This is just to say- yes. I- understand. 

The red had drained from the sky, leaving only a deep black, untouched by light pollution. The bitter wind blew through. It was freezing, a dry cold down to the bone. Martin noticed Jon shiver beside him. He wanted to give Jon his jacket, just to fend off the cold a little, but refrained. Not then. 

Martin nodded. “There’s always just a  _ bit  _ of that unrelenting love left. Like you can’t help it. As much as you want to hate someone or something- it stays.”

They were silent for a long moment, perhaps stretching to a minute, perhaps longer. Martin couldn’t tell in the liminal space between the mountains, the only noise the faint beat of up-tempo music from inside. 

Jon cleared his throat. “I- about Oliver.”

Almost imperceptibly, Martin tensed, an involuntary way to protect himself against whatever this news would be.

“I talked to him, a couple weeks ago. It’s- over. Not that we’ve been together for months now, not officially, but. It’s over, and we’re on the same page about it. He’s wonderful, but- I can’t.”

Martin smiled. It seemed he was not the only single person in their friend group. “Oh, o- okay.”

Shivering, Jon rubbed his arms with his hands. “There’s a  _ significant  _ chance I am about to get frostbite, so I will be going inside.” He pushed himself off the wall with a freezing tremor. For one of the first times since the start of their conversation, he looked Martin fully in the eyes. In the darkness, Jon’s irises strangely almost appeared green, an intense color reaching out directly to Martin. “Are you staying out here?”

Martin shook his head. “No, it’s- cold. Let’s go in.”

Once again, they braved the room of people, a fine tradeoff for warmth. Some of the constant turmoil in Martin’s brain quieted. Perhaps, he could be alright. He could be okay. He just hated how much of a variable Jon was in that careful equation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the magnus archives fanfiction ft. my very specific jon headcanons  
> i wrote this entire chapter in one sitting i got through like. 4 different playlists. a bit harrowing.  
> anyway, thank you so much for reading!! and that's The Wedding, folks. basira and daisy in canon? haha We Do Not See It. we absolutely do not. they are all happy together. these bitches gay good for them  
> jon? a cis man? it's my trans enby projection and i get to choose the comfort character  
> hnnngh as always stay Funky and owo stay Fresh!! Yeehaw


	35. 2/07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there's anything you need to know about my mental state at the moment, it's that i wrote most of this chapter on my roof

-Agnes Montague-

-2/7-

Annabelle huffed and flopped onto the back of her chair. “It’s been an hour already. No one’s coming.”

Jane shrugged at this. “I think it’s a little- preemptive- to say that now. There’s still another hour left of the fundraiser.”

“Maybe organizing a coffee shop fundraiser at a time starting after five in the afternoon  _ wasn’t  _ our best idea,” Agnes said, grimacing as she traced the lid of her coffee cup. 

“Coffee at any time of the day is gay culture,” Jane said. She leaned forward over their table, obviously trying to connect eyes with either of the despondent girls beside her. In a last desperate bid for their attention, she clicked her fingernails against the table. “Come on, guys. No one’s gonna come in here if you look that upset right in front of the window.”

Agnes looked out of the aforementioned window at a view she knew well, the sky already dark. James, their wonderful boss, had gladly agreed to push up the GSA fundraiser date to the seventh of February. Agnes, of course, offered to work extra shifts that week to make up for the inconvenience, but James just waved her off. Secretly, Agnes was glad- rehearsals for the musical were only getting longer, and Sims drilled them relentlessly for ACC nationals. Not to mention SAT prep and the sheer amount of honors and AP classes she’d decided to take (all of which were grades hovering between 90 and 100, her physics grade being a perfect hundred- more if you counted the extra credit).

In short, extra shifts were not what she needed. In the summer, she could make up for her slack at work and pull in some money for university, although she’d still need financial aid. But she wouldn’t need money for uni if she didn’t get accepted in the first place. 

There was a buzz in Agnes’s pocket, and as she slid her phone from her jeans, she noticed the others do the same time. A notification from the GSA group chat floated on her lockscreen- Nikola. 

**PlasticGender:** Will Be Arriving Soon. Be Ready!

Agnes sighed and put her phone away again. The others’ expressions were just as confused. “Glad she’s coming, at least?” Jane said. 

“Isn’t she bringing those two janitors?” Annabelle took a sip from her cup of coffee. “Are they her dads? I have no idea what’s going on there.”

Before anyone had the chance to answer her question, there was a sharp yelp from the other side of the coffee shop. Agnes’s head whipped to the side to look in the direction of the noise, her shoulders tense- until her gaze met the figures of Jude and Gerry sitting across from each other in dragged out chairs, all the way on the other side of the shop. Gerry had an eyeliner pen raised to Jude’s face. She’d recoiled a moment ago, assumedly the source of the yelp. 

From a short distance away, Michael watched the two of them with an amused smile. He and Agnes met eyes and gave each other a knowing look. Watching those two pseudo-badasses together was always a trip. 

Agnes pointed out the interesting scene occurring across the room. The GSA had split into little subsections throughout the shop, with Mr. Banks and Julia having some sort of lively debate in two armchairs near the entrance. Gerry and Jude had their little emo eyeliner party happening in the corner of the room. Agnes, Jane, and Annabelle dejectedly sipped their drinks at their usual table next to a large window. 

Another few minutes walked by without so much as one customer stepping through the door. Even if someone came in with no knowledge of the fundraiser, eighty percent of the money from their drinks still would’ve gone to the GSA. They’d advertised since the day they’d decided to push up the date, and dozens upon dozens of students and teachers in school claimed to plan to come. 

And yet, the shop was empty. 

Annabelle pushed her now-empty coffee cup between her hands. “Jane, is your mum coming? I thought she had tonight off work.”

“She said she would,” Jane said, throwing a quick glance to the entrance. “I already texted her about it- do you guys mind if I call her? She isn’t always the best at picking up texts.”

Agnes gathered all of their empty cups in her hands. “That’s fine- I’ll go throw these out.” As she went to the rubbish bin near the counter, she heard the sound of Jane’s phone ringing. 

“Hola, mamá.” She paused for a long moment, assumedly listening to her mum speak on the other end. “Ah- sí, PanoptiCoffee, la cafetería donde trabajan Agnes y Annabelle.” She waited again, and then sighed. “Está- está bien. Sí, estamos haciendo bien.” 

Agnes walked back to the table and sat down across from Annabelle as she usually did, still quiet for Jane’s phone call. She nodded despite being on the phone. “Te veo pronto, mamá. También te quiero.” Jane sighed and put her phone down on the table. 

“That didn’t sound like an affirmative,” Agnes said, a small frown on her face. Jane shook her head. 

“She can’t make it, she has to cover a shift, some college student who works at the store is getting some leave time because of a ‘mannequin mishap’- I genuinely have no clue what that means.”

The bell signalling the door opening rang, and Agnes turned to it. Inside stepped a thin figure and two tall, muscular ones right behind her. Agnes motioned her eyebrows to the door. “Speaking of having no clue about something.”

She watched as Mr. Banks stood to say hello to the two men. Nikola was already talking to Danny across from the counter. With a smile, Banks held out his hand. Neither of the men made a motion to shake it, and he put the hand down. He said something, obviously struggling. Agnes scrunched up her face in indecision. “Banks looks like he needs some help,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle shrugged. “Sounds like you’re just the woman for the job, love.”

Once standing next to Banks, across from the two large men in uniforms, Banks locked eyes with her in an  _ oh dear lord thank you so much  _ sort of expression. Agnes smiled at the men, just as Nikola came back with a few drinks in hand. 

“Nikola!” Agnes said, her voice going up about an octave in forced friendliness. “We were hoping you’d be able to make it. So, uh-” a previously hidden memory came back to her- “hi! I believe I met you two the night of the poetry and performance fundraiser, back in November.” She withheld her urge to hold out her hand- Banks already made that mistake for her. “Breekon and Hope, yes? Are you two- Nikola’s dads?”

Nikola shook her head. “Hm- no.”

Breekon and Hope followed suit with an identical action. Uncomfortable, Agnes shifted her weight on her feet. “Might I- ask how you know them, then, Nikola?”

She smiled at Agnes, teeth a little too bright, her eyes not quite shining enough. “Agnes,  _ darling,  _ you certainly can, but  _ I’m  _ not going to answer!”

“Okay, uh… great,” Agnes nodded. “Sure. Just- have a good time, yeah?” With barely a word of goodbye to the group, she sped away and back to her table, where Jane and Annabelle watched with amused faces. Agnes plopped down into her seat. “Shut up.”

“Hey, at least someone came, though,” Jane said, gesturing to Nikola and the two strange men. 

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Yeah, a literal member of our own GSA and her two- somethings. Did you find out the deal on that one, Agnes?”

“Nope,” Agnes said. “No idea. In a shocking turn of events, Nikola remains a complete and utter mystery.”

The door rang once again. 

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-2/7-

Christ, it was  _ cold.  _ Martin shivered a bit and speedwalked to the door of the coffee shop, aching for the warmth and light it would provide. As always, the shop stood at the corner with soft glowing lights, a gentle beacon of life in the bleak English winter. Martin swung the door open with gloved hands (or at least, a rough impression of gloves- he never could seem to knit the fingers quite right. But his hands stayed warm).

Inside, he was met with just as much comfort as one would expect from a small coffee shop, especially a shop one knew well. With a sigh of relief, he took off his gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets, his clothes still freezing against his skin. Martin exchanged a few hellos with the GSA kids, stopping for a longer moment to converse with Gerry and his odd boyfriend. Sometimes, Martin even had to separate the two in class, but he didn’t enjoy it. He did hope they would stay together for some time; the boys worked well together. 

Martin ordered his usual drink, the Mr. Spider, specifying for there  _ not  _ to be a small plastic spider dropped in the bottom of the mug. PanoptiCoffee did like their surprises. Danny obliged, thanking him for stopping by for the fundraiser, to which he answered with a resounding  _ of course.  _ He’d do mostly anything to support the club. 

As he waited for his drink, Martin scrolled a bit on his phone, looking at everything and nothing. Despite the few billion people on social media, it often felt a profoundly lonely place. 

“Ah- Martin?”

He nearly jumped at the unexpected voice from behind him. In fact, he did at least a little bit, because his phone went flying out of his hand and onto the floor. Martin cringed at the clatter it made. 

The source of the voice, Oliver clapped a hand over his mouth, eyebrows raised. “Martin, I- so sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!”

Martin picked up his phone, checking for any damage- there was none- and then slipped it back in his coat pocket. He wiped his hand off on his trousers. “No, it’s- uh- it’s fine, Oliver, I- yeah,” he stammered. 

Oliver pressed his lips together. “Well, ah- apologies nonetheless.”

For a moment, they awkwardly stared at each other. Martin tapped his fingers on the table next to him, the one piled with creams and sugars and stirring sticks. His eyes darted. “So…”

As if out of a trance, Oliver shook his head. “Right, sorry, I- we haven’t- talked, in a while. You know, other than faculty meetings and- the like.”

“Yeah, we haven’t,” Martin said. Oliver was a nice man and all, but he didn’t see the need  _ for  _ them to talk when it wasn’t necessary. And no, these feelings were not born of jealousy or spite. Or he at least told himself that. 

Oliver looked around at the floor for a moment, as if physically searching for words, and then sighed. “Right. I should just- get to the point, really, no use in  _ stalling,  _ er- you talk to Jon quite a bit, yeah?”

Martin’s first instinctual answer would have been- well, not  _ that  _ much. But they did. They met up nearly every Saturday, exchanged texts about poetry and nonfiction, went on almost six hour long wedding drives together, usually talked once or twice a week at lunch break, and well- the list went on. Martin had skipped some of these occasions in the past month or so and had avoided Jon perhaps a  _ tad  _ more than necessary, but to be completely honest- “Uh- yes. Yes, I guess I do.”

Oliver crossed his arms, avoiding Martin’s eyes. “Can you- do you know why he didn’t come tonight? I thought he said he would.”

Oh, god. Martin didn’t want to get involved with- this. “There’s still another hour or so left of the fundraiser, isn’t there?”

Oliver let out one short laugh. “You’re kind, Martin, but he’s not coming and we both know it. I think he gave Gerry the amount of pounds for a coffee or the like to give to the fundraiser. They were- the first in the cash box,” he sighed. “Would you mind just-  _ mentioning  _ to him that I don’t hate him or anything?”

Surprised, Martin nodded. “Yeah, I mean- but couldn’t you just tell him yourself?”

Shaking his head, Oliver met Martin’s eyes. “I’m fairly certain you know more than that about Jon and I. Just say something, will you? It’s one thing to just be friends, I can deal with that, but- not talking to him at all?” He paused. “Please, something quick, that’s all I’m asking.”

Martin swallowed, thinking. He had nothing  _ against  _ Oliver, who’d been entirely kind to Martin since they’d met. In fact, he’d never even heard Oliver say a negative thing about anyone they knew, or about a student. Oliver showed a fierce devotion to his job and especially his GSA. Still, doing him that favor wouldn’t exactly help Martin out in his own visions. 

But more than that, Jon’s happiness was important. More important than Oliver’s kind smile or Martin’s unattainable fantasies. And he couldn’t sabotage anything that even had the smallest chance of making Jon happier. 

Because, fuck it, he loved Jon. Or something.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know,” Martin said. 

Oliver’s shoulders dropped in relief. “ _ Thank you _ , Martin.”

From behind the counter, Danny called Martin’s name. Glad for an excuse to exit the interaction, Martin rushed out a goodbye to Oliver, grabbed his cup, and was out of the coffee shop before he even had the chance to get his gloves back on. 

\- - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-2/7-

Standing in front of their table, arm outstretched, Jude held a thick book. The title read, in black gothic lettering,  _ Interview with the Vampire.  _

With a smile, Jane took the book back from her. Agnes scooted aside so Jude had space to sit down next to her. “So, you finished the book?” Agnes asked. 

Jude nodded. “Oh, indeed I did. It was a good one, actually, especially for some sort of weird spooky-indoctrination or whatever.”

Annabelle faked offense. “ _ Excuse  _ me? If you are to be a Spooky Lesbian, you must treat the name with utmost respect!” Almost in tandem, the rest of them rolled her eyes, even Jane managing to do so.

“Even  _ I  _ don’t take it seriously,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle shrugged, smiling. “I’m just fuckin around with y’all. Welcome to our little group, Jude. You’ve proven yourself- something very akin to worthy.”

A rare moment occurred as Jude cracked a small, but tangible smile. Gerry had done well on the eyeliner. A bit tick, as one would expect from any all-black emo, but Jude made it work. With black lipstick and liner against a backdrop of olive skin, matching pin-straight close cropped hair, Agnes couldn’t stop fucking  _ staring  _ at her. She didn’t often think about the side effects of romantic feelings. Agnes had learned to mold and set her emotions over time, coming down from those instinctual passionate feelings- whether positive or of the anger variety. But around Jude, that skill wore thin. 

“Have you gotten a drink yet, Jude?” Agnes asked. 

Jude shook her head. “No, I’ve been a bit busy being used as Gerry’s personal sketchbook. But then he and Michael decided to get all coupley and I fled the hostile environment.”

“What, got something against young love, Jude?” Annabelle joked, leaning forward with her palm under her chin. “Oh to be young and gay as hell.”

“No, I don’t have a vendetta against the concept of love, just other people engaging in it near me,” Jude grumbled. 

Agnes fought to get back on subject. “Well,  _ anyway.  _ Jude, if you haven’t gotten a drink yet, what if I show you how to make the Asag? That’s your favorite, right?”

Jude thought about this, tilting her head in a slight quirk. “Alright. None of you make it spicy enough anyways, fucking cowards.”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting any hotness liabilities around,” Annabelle mumbled. “Other than me, of course. The sheer dummy thiccness of my ass is just  _ not  _ up to health co-”

“Okay!” Agnes interrupted. “Let’s- see about that drink, shall we?” Agnes stood and scooted out from between their chairs and the next table. Jude joined her, and with both of them barely up from the table, Jane was already showing Annabelle a meme of some sort. The latter let out a small snort, and Agnes took that as a cue to leave. 

Agnes unlatched the small gate that led to behind the counter, where Danny half-leaned and half-sat against the counter, checking something on his phone. She waved to get his attention. “Hey Danny, is it alright if I give Jude a little behind-the-scenes look at how we make the best coffee in all of Great Britain?”

Danny hopped off the counter and onto the floor, brushing off his black apron from bits of flour on the countertop. “Impressive claim there, but that’s fine with me. Don’t set anything on fire, I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

“You’re the best, Danny. Love of my life, fire of my heart, the caretaker of my soul!” She called back to him as he disappeared behind the door to the back room, sticking out his tongue at her quickly like a small child. Agnes turned back to Jude and took an apron off her hook. Just for the fun of it, she took an extra apron down as well and passed it to Jude. “Comes with the territory.”

Jude huffed, but took the apron. “I see you have a…  _ supportive  _ work environment here.”

Agnes snorted. “Oh, yeah, for sure, just one big happy family.” She poured some grounds into the portafilter of their automatic espresso machine, scraping off the excess with the lid. “It is nice here, though. Currently we’re a little understaffed, it’s only James, Danny, Annabelle, and I, but I think James has found a fifth that we’re working on hiring. So we are kind of a family.”

“You and Annabelle do a lot together,” Jude said. She watched as Agnes began to steam the milk for the espresso. 

Agnes shrugged. “I mean- she’s my best friend.”

“Uh, Jane?” Jude asked. “Aren’t the three if you some kind of smart-girl blood pact?”

“Yeah- Jane too, of course,” Agnes said. Jude had the audacity to raise her eyebrows, and Agnes caught on. “I- Annabelle and I are friends. Best friends, but yeah, friends, that’s it."

Jude shrugged. “Sometimes it just seems like she- thinks a bit differently.”

“Annabelle is very naturally affectionate,” Agnes sighed. “She acts like that with everyone she’s friends with. Let’s just drop it, alright? If you want to get into questions, why weren’t you in gym today?”

The milk was ready. Agnes poured it into the espresso carefully, making sure not to add too much. She mixed two teaspoons of chocolate powder into the drink, her eyes occasionally flitting to Jude, who stood there with a sour expression. 

Finally, Jude answered. “Gym is pointless. And boring. There’s no reason for me to go.”

Agnes sighed. “Yes, there  _ is,  _ and it’s called your GPA. We’re juniors, this is the most important year of high school for us. You’re so smart, Jude, you could be one of the top of the class if you tried.”

“Well, I’d never beat you,” Jude said. “You’re the most intelligent person I know. It would be almost annoying, how amazing you are, if I didn’t appreciate it.”

Agnes went up to her tip-toes to reach a shelf and grabbed cayenne, cinnamon, and clove seasonings from it. She tapped in the right amounts with an expert hand. “Well- thank you. For saying that. But I just remember and regurgitate, you- you actually have these incredible  _ thoughts,  _ Jude, and- a way with words and writing. You could be incredible. You  _ are  _ incredible.” Agnes squirted whipped cream on top of the drink, dusted that with cinnamon, and then handed it to Jude. “And  _ that  _ will be 5.99.”

Jude fished around in her back pocket. “What, no discount for friends?”

The edge of her lips quirking up into an amused smile, Agnes set the drink on the counter next to them. “Eighty percent of the funds tonight are going directly to the GSA, we’d run this place out of business if I gave you a discount,” she chuckled. 

Jude handed over the money, which Agnes counted and then put into the register. Jude took a sip of her drink. “Shit, that is good though.”

About to reply with a smug comment, Agnes opened her mouth, but Danny pushed through the door to the back room. Jude wiped a bit of whipped cream off her upper lip, some of the black lipstick rubbing away. Agnes tried to hold in a fond smile looking at her. 

Danny sighed and looked out at the shop, all just GSA members sitting at tables. “James told me we should close for the night.”

“But- there’s still another twenty minutes left of the fundraiser?” Agnes asked. 

Apparently having heard this part of the conversation, Annabelle swiftly pushed up from her seat and walked over to the counter, leaning from the other side. Danny frowned and shrugged at them. “It really doesn’t seem like anyone else is coming. I don’t know, guys.”

Annabelle shook her head. “But- the fundraiser is still going  _ on!  _ We haven’t finished.”

“Well, it’ll take a few minutes to close,” James said. “In case anyone else does come in. But we’ve had, what, three or four non-GSA members come in these last two hours? Going overtime here gets expensive, Annabelle you know that.”

Annabelle looked about ready to say something else, but Agnes gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s- it’s alright. He’s right. We can figure something else out, it’ll be fine.”

With a huff, Annabelle walked away, practically storming out. She opened the door to the shop and almost threw it closed, violently jangling the usually peaceful bell. Danny grimaced and Jude looked off in that direction. “Is she okay? She really doesn’t seem okay,” Jude said. 

Agnes looked between the two of them and the door, eventually opting to grab her jacket and run out from the shop. She jogged a few steps down the sidewalk and almost tripped over the dark shape of Annabelle sitting on the curb. After a moment of hesitation, Agnes joined her. 

“Annabelle- the fuck is going on?”

One hand covering her face, Annabelle’s shoulders slumped forward. “The crowdfunding is shit, Agnes. Even worse than you know.”

Agnes wrapped her arm around Annabelle’s shoulder, a gesture the other usually performed, but she didn’t mind reciprocating. “It’s okay, you told us it wasn’t going that well.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I-  _ worse.  _ We’ve brought in maybe thirty pounds. I lied about how much we’ve made- thought we’d make more than enough tonight, considering how many people said they’d come, but- I guess not. And now the Board will cancel the project at our next meeting with them.”

“You don’t know that,” Agnes said, pulling her a bit closer. It was cold, dreadfully so, the freezing wind biting at her face. “And we can do another fundraiser. I’m sure we can think of something. 

“Nobody’s gonna care, Agnes,” Annabelle said. “The only way we’ll get enough is if we win nationals.”

From behind them came the sound of a door closing, and then muffled footsteps. Jane dropped down next to Annabelle on the curb. “Are you two- okay?”

There was a long moment of silence. The clarity of the sky only made the night colder, but Agnes found it calming, her eyes flicking up to the stars. They had to win nationals. Really, there wasn’t another choice. “I think so, Jane,” Agnes said. 

Jane leaned against Annabelle’s shoulder, her head in the crook between the collarbone and chin.  _ Blood pact,  _ Jude had said. Perhaps not quite that intense- but as Agnes stretched her arm out further to touch Jane’s shoulder as well, maybe they had something nearly that close. She just wanted Jude to be there too. Leaning against her, Agnes’s fingers combing slowly through Jude’s hair. Jude would never let her, but she could imagine. 

“Are we just- fucked?” Annabelle asked. 

Agnes made a small hum, a noise of uncertainty. “I don’t- I don’t think so, Annabelle. I think it’ll work out. I think  _ we’ll  _ work it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello dear readers!! thank you for reading!!  
> i want to do something a bit different today- i'm trying to expand the playlist for this fic, because currently it's only my own music taste, and not a huge variety. so please, if there's a song that comes to mind that fits this fic, comment it below! it's almost guaranteed i'll add it if you suggest a song.  
> you are all wonderful! as always, stay Funky, and stay Fresh!! Yeehaw


	36. 2/09-13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do y'all think would happen if i stopped waiting until 8:30 on saturday nights to release the saturday chapter? would the world just straight up implode if i didn't spend three and a half straight hours writing entire chapters in one sitting? guess we'll never find out huh

-Martin Blackwood-

-9/07-

As off-putting, callous, and generally cold as Daisy and Basira often presented, they had a  _ very  _ warm house.

Martin was thankful for this fact as he stepped inside their home and peeled off his jacket. The heated air revitalized his freezing body. Still in the beginning of February, the weather could chill down to the bones, and Martin found himself aching for the coming mild temperatures of spring. He loved the snow and the layers of clothing and the whole aesthetic of winter, but the cold itself? Not a fan. 

He’d almost forgotten what Daisy and Basira’s house looked like. He hadn’t been there since- well, since before Christmas. There were a lot of things he hadn’t done since Christmas. 

The cheerful, familiar laughter of his friends floated through the living room to Martin. He could see the glow of a light from the kitchen. They quieted, and someone started to shout. 

“Uh- hello?” It was Daisy’s voice. 

Grimacing at his less than graceful entrance, Martin crept to the kitchen and stepped around the open part of the wall that connected it to the living room. A group of faces he knew well turned to him, and he gave them a small wave. 

“Oh,  _ Martin  _ love, you came!” Georgie exclaimed, running over to give him a tight hug from the side. The others looked equally as surprised. Without even thinking of it, Martin zeroed in on Jon, whose face showed the glimpse of a smile before he turned his head away. 

Georgie ushered him over to where the group congregated around the kitchen, everyone saying some iteration of a hello. He squeezed into place beside Sasha, not having realized just how much he’d missed this feeling. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really glad you came, Martin.”

“We  _ have  _ missed you, Mart-o!” Tim held out his hand for a fist bump. With raised eyebrows, Martin gave him a questionable fist bump back, which Tim somehow celebrated as a victory. Martin laughed at the general enthusiasm in that kitchen.

“I do see you guys pretty much every day, you know,” Martin chuckled.

Basira handed him a bottle from the fridge. “Not when there’s alcohol around.”

Martin glanced around the kitchen- something was different. It didn’t take him long to recognize the culprit as numerous boxes cluttering the counters. After using the bottle opener placed on the island to open his drink, Martin passed it between his hands, the condensation rubbing off on his palms. “What- are all the boxes?” he asked, almost seeming to see another every time he looked around. 

At this question, Daisy huffed and rolled her eyes. Basira glared at her. “Unsolicited wedding gifts from people we barely know,” Basira said. 

“We didn’t  _ ask  _ for three different shitty blenders,” Daisy grumbled. “We already had our own fucking appliances. Now we have to figure out what to do with an ice cream maker.”

Jon frowned. “Make… ice cream?”

“It’s times like these I can’t tell if you’ve met us before,” Daisy said, giving him a significant side-eye. Jon nodded.

“You are entirely correct,” he said, stepping back as if to physically remove himself from this particular flow of conversation. 

Melanie leaned forward on the counter, her gaze flitting between Daisy and Basira. “So how’s that  _ married life  _ treating you two? Any significant differences in the past- week?”

Basira chuckled. “It’s about exactly the same as before, but with more legal documents, and  _ far  _ more messages from very extended family that I am forced to respond to. I don’t think most of them even know I married a woman. Too many messages sent to a ‘Mr. and Mrs. Tonner.’ I don’t know who thinks I married a stud of a man named Daisy.”

“Christ, I can drink to that,” Daisy said, clinking her bottle against Basira’s and taking a swig. “We must be sharing a residence with Mr. and Mrs. Hussain. Just  _ lovely  _ people, I’m sure.”

Martin laughed along with the others, but pulled his phone out of his back pocket, feeling it vibrate. He clicked it open to see a surprising name in his notifications.

**TheRealSasha:** Hey! Can we go talk in the living room?

Furrowing his eyebrows, Martin looked directly beside him at where Sasha stood, talking with the others and not even remotely seeing Martin. He did, however, notice her phone held in her hand. Martin sighed and began to type. 

**m.k.blackwood:** you are literally standing right next to me

**TheRealSasha:** Oh, really? Hadn’t noticed

**TheRealSasha:** Just thought it might be better to ask you this way. Less questions

**TheRealSasha:** Besides, considering the current discussion topic, I don’t think anyone will notice. Or care

Martin realized he’d been entirely tuning out of the conversation. He focused back in on the voices around him, and it made no further sense. 

“Fuck you, Melanie,” Tim said pointing an aggressive finger at her. “The cars in the  _ Cars  _ universe obviously have to get pregnant to have car offspring.”

Melanie pressed her palms to her face, shaking her head. “That’s- that’s fucking ridiculous, how would car intercourse work? It wouldn’t! Obviously child cars have to be produced in factories like real cars.”

“I agree with Melanie,” Basira said. “It’s weird, but less so than the alternative.”

“ _ Babe _ ,” Daisy sighed. “Then- tell me, how possibly- would the cars  _ grow _ ? They’re tiny little fucks when they’re kids, metal doesn’t go through puberty, they have to be produced- naturally?”

“The cars have eyes, so they must have organic components- Mater has teeth. So perhaps produced cars would be able to grow too?” Georgie supposed. 

Tim’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck. I forgot Mater has teeth. Why does he have  _ teeth _ ?”

Sasha exchanged a knowing glance with Martin- he now understood exactly what she’d meant. Sometimes he did wonder why and how this group of people were allowed to teach children. Sasha gestured to the living room, and Martin nodded. 

Georgie turned to Jon. “So, Jon- do you have any thoughts? I’m sure they’ll be incredibly weird and wrong, but I’d love to know. And dear god don’t bring up Car Pope.”

Jon held up his hands in a motion of surrender. “I- haven’t seen the  _ Cars  _ movies. I have nothing to offer here.”

“You haven’t seen  _ Cars _ ?!” 

This was said by multiple people at once, and Martin didn’t have the mental capacity to puzzle out exactly who. As the group became consumed by this topic, steadily growing more and more heated with every word exchanged, Martin and Sasha managed to slip out from the circle unnoticed. They left the kitchen and Sasha led him to the sofa, patting the spot next to her. 

Martin took his seat on the sofa. It was old and reminded Martin of his own sofa, likely bought secondhand and fraught with frayed edges and old faded patches. He folded his hands in his lap. “What- what is it?” he asked. 

With a sigh, Sasha leaned back into the sofa. “You came tonight.”

He remained still for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Very- astute?- I’m not getting your point.”

“We haven’t really had the opportunity for a real talk since before New Year’s,” Sasha said. “Are you… doing better?” 

Martin shrugged. “Yes. And no? I’m not entirely sure myself to be honest,” he said, lacing the end with a small chuckle, but it was unconvincing. 

“Well, I don’t want you collectively ghosting us all again. Has there been any progress with your- situation?”

Sinking further back into the sofa, Martin heard a raised voice in the kitchen. There was a laugh immediately after, the result of a strange mix of emotions their group could only manifest with the most moronic of disputes. He shrugged once more. “Not really, no. I haven’t talked with her since. I- I called the care home, actually, twice. Just to make sure she was doing alright. She’s been sick for years now. They said she’s doing perfectly well, and I almost asked for them to put her on the phone, but-” he paused. “I couldn’t.”

“And you don’t have to,” Sasha said, placing a gentle hand on his knee. He relaxed into the touch. “It’s not your fault, Martin. And- I know what happened at New Year’s, too, and I understand how much that would have hurt for you. But nothing good is going to come from isolation.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, Martin pulled his knee away from Sasha’s hand and stood from the sofa. “I’m- going back to the kitchen,” he said. Sasha frowned but nodded. In a moment, Martin was out of the living room and back with the rest of the group, slipping back into the circle. 

Tim was talking about the apparent massacre of all human beings in the  _ Cars  _ universe, as anyone would expect.

\- - - - -

The entire group groaned, everyone other than Sasha, who sat on the ground with an almost obnoxious smile on her face. 

In their eight person game of  _ Among Us  _ (a game Martin had never played before, but likely would again), Sasha and Martin had both been labelled Impostors. Early on, though, Martin’s tiny cyan spaceman had been ejected out into space for his hesitant crimes of murdering Georgie’s character. Sasha, though, continued on with unexpected skill, becoming the only Impostor of their game night to win a game. Martin found the username  _ TheRealSasha  _ particularly ironic at that moment. 

Tim glared at Jon. “Couldn’t keep it together at the end there, could you?”

Jon, or rather, his small yellow spaceman, had voted for Tim as the Impostor rather than Sasha, essentially losing the game for the entire party. Jon turned off his phone and crossed his arms. “I’m not  _ omniscient,  _ Tim.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Georgie sighed. “We really need to leave now anyway. How many rounds have we played of this?”

A silence fell over the room, indicating the answer to be precisely  _ too many.  _ Martin checked the clock in the room- almost as soon as he looked at it, the minute hand ticked to  _ 10:30.  _

“Christ- are we getting  _ old? _ ” Melanie asked. “I remember easily staying out until midnight just a few years ago. Remember when we could do that?”

Martin shook his head. “I absolutely do not.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tim said, standing from his chair. He lifted his arms above his head in a long stretch. “I think I’ll have an all-nighter. Go to a rager or something. Get really fucked up and wake up in a shopping cart or the like.”

Sasha raised her eyebrows. “Fridays are your face mask and skin care nights, Tim.”

He quieted down after that comment. 

Gradually, they began to throw their empty bottles in the recycling, cleaning up any sneaky rubbish left around the living room and saying goodbyes. Of course, they’d all be seeing each other again on Monday, and some even sooner. Martin thought about the manuscript pages he’d marked up that were right on his nightstand. Words written by Jon, crafted with passion and devotion. Martin tried to put the same level of effort into the editing. 

Martin had to promise to multiple people to come back the next week, and to do some extra research on  _ Cars  _ theories to bring to the table. He hoped they weren’t being entirely serious about the latter promises. 

As he pulled on his jacket, Martin watched Jon talk to Georgie out of the corner of his eye, Jon leaning against the wall and nodding emphatically to something she said. In that moment he remembered what had been asked of him earlier that week. 

Martin huffed, torn between leaving and staying to talk to Jon. As much as he wanted to get home, Martin didn’t mind an excuse to speak to Jon- even if it was about a rather uncomfortable subject. 

Melanie walked up to where Jon and Georgie stood together. Soon, Melanie and Georgie were out of the house, waving goodbye to Martin as they left. Jon quickly followed, almost speedwalking as he often did. 

A sense of urgency now upon him, Martin rushed into the cold night air to catch Jon outside. The other man was already on the pavement leading to his car. Martin jogged down the steps and then behind Jon. 

“Hey- Jon?”

Jon froze and turned around. “Ah, Martin- hello.”

Martin took a moment to catch his breath. “Jon! Hi. Well, I guess we’ve seen each other all night- ah, hi anyway.” 

They were both quiet for a moment. Jon pressed his lips together. “Did you- did you need something?”

Martin remembered he’d been the first to go up and start this conversation- a fact that somehow almost surprised him. “Oh, uh, sorry, yeah- Oliver wanted me to talk to you. For him.”

Jon crossed his arms and shifted his weight on his feet. “Uh- Oliver?”

“Yeah, sorry, is that alright?”

“Su- sure, go ahead. We have to stop having these talks outside in the cold.”

Martin breathed out, the warm air faintly visible in the darkness. “Yeah, I know, right? Anyway, he- wanted me to tell you that he’s not mad. And he wants to be friends with you still. I- I think that was it.”

“Oh,” Jon said. 

Martin nodded. “This might have been a more off-the-record kind of thing, but he said he’d rather be friends with you than nothing at all. Which I get. Not that we’re- anyway. That’s all he said to me, and I promised I’d pass it on to you.”

Jon shivered, his arms wrapped around his small frame. “Thank you, Martin.”

“Yeah, of- of course.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that, you know.”

Martin frowned, taken aback by that. “What- what do you mean?”

Jon sighed, trembling in the chill. “Nothing, I just- nothing. Thank you for telling me. I- I appreciate it. Would love to stay and discuss, but I think I may get frostbite if I stand out here much longer.”

“Understandable,” Martin laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Jon nodded once. “Right- yeah. See you then.”

Martin had entirely forgotten about their PanoptiCoffee visit until that moment. He could’ve waited to tell Jon then- but it didn’t matter. He’d done the deed, and it went decently. He could forget all about Oliver’s heartbroken face in the coffee shop and the image of the two of them together on New Year’s. He  _ could _ , but Martin knew he wouldn’t. 

Back in his car, Martin took a moment to breathe as the heater warmed the vehicle. Perhaps he’d just facilitated Oliver and Jon making amends. Maybe he’d gone against everything he’d wanted to be a kind, caring person, a goal that often felt futile. 

If Jon were happy, though, then Martin would be okay. It wasn’t his place to be possessive of a person he laid no claim to. 

But Martin did get to see Jon every Saturday, and that’s what one would call an advantage.

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-2/13-

Agnes waited outside the library as the minutes ticked by. She scrolled aimlessly on her phone, desperately attempting to ignore the soreness of her legs- drama rehearsal ended only about fifteen minutes earlier. Thankfully, she’d been given almost an hour between drama and ACC, enough time to meet with Jude and walk around their town for a bit. 

Inside that library somewhere, Jude was sitting across from their English teacher Mr. Blackwood, going over one of her latest writings. Jude never let Agnes read any of her work. She may have understood this, but Agnes’s curiosity still presided over her other instincts, and she ached to read some. She wanted to  _ get  _ Jude more. Understand her. Because sometimes, most of the time, really, Jude still felt a mystery, a puzzle Agnes was yet to solve. 

Agnes nearly jumped from the loud, sudden sound of the door to the library opening, a heavy metallic clang. She dropped her phone into her coat pocket as Jude closed the door behind her. She swung a backpack over her shoulder. 

“You ready to go?” Agnes asked. 

Jude nodded, and they set off down the hallway toward the exit. Jude’s heavy black boots made an intimidating sound on the tiled floor. “So, how’d it go with Mr. Blackwood?”

Jude shrugged. They reached the door and she pushed it open, holding it for Agnes as they walked through. The chill ran through Agnes- she could never quite understand how Jude managed to walk around without a jacket on. Even if Agnes usually ran hot, she didn’t have the same tolerance. “Fine, I guess,” Jude said. “He found a writing contest he wants me to enter.”

“That’s amazing!” The two of them started walking on the pavement, aimless on the tree-lined street. Agnes didn’t really feel like going to PanoptiCoffee on her day off. They could grab a bite to eat at some other place on the main street. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jude said.

Agnes frowned. “You don’t exactly sound too enthused about this.”

“Well, Blackwood is very insistent I save any possible prize money for uni.”

Agnes paused, waiting for Jude to add on to this. She looked at the other girl when she didn’t continue on. “That seems reasonable to me? I don’t think I’m getting the issue.”

Shrugging, Jude looked down at her feet. “I just-  _ university.  _ I don’t know. I guess I just don’t see the point in saving much money for it.”

“Why not?” Agnes asked. “I mean, it’s not like we’re in the US, but uni is still pretty expensive. You know, Oxford is over 10,000 pounds a year.”

“Oxford?”

Agnes hummed in satisfaction, her mind drifting to dreams of the future as it often did. “Yeah. Oxford. I’m going to Oxford.”

“You sound- very certain of that,” Jude laughed. 

Agnes nodded. “Uh, because I  _ am.  _ I’ve always wanted to go to Oxford and I’m pretty sure no one can stop me. I’m going to study chemistry, but it’s not exactly cheap, and my mum won’t be too much help- it wasn’t great for my university savings account to have a house fire, either.”

They walked in easy silence for a minute. The trees were still barren, and the clear blue winter sky was sliced by branches, dividing into fractals as they stretched out. Jude crossed her arms. “I’m- not sure I’ll go to uni. At all.”

“I- what?”

“I mean, is that so crazy?” Jude asked. “I’m not going to be a member of Parliament or the greatest researcher in all of the UK. It seems like a lot of money for something I don’t  _ really  _ need.”

Agnes huffed. “You- you  _ do  _ need to go to uni, Jude, you’re- supposed to!”

“Supposed to?” Jude asked, one apathetic chuckle coming out of her. “Well, if I’m  _ supposed to _ .”

“You know what I mean,” Agnes sighed. “You’re so smart, just- act on it.”

“If I’m so smart, why do I need to spend my entire life savings on university?”

Agnes didn’t know exactly how to answer that. And so, she didn’t, letting it drop instead. They walked down the winding streets, past the park where they’d had their first real conversation back in September. The image of smoke swirling up from Jude’s lips filled Agnes’s mind, and she looked to the side where Jude walked next to her, all sharp angles and dark makeup. 

Neither of them needed to be right, and Agnes knew that, but she couldn’t help but want to- to convince Jude. To make her see sense, whatever that could mean. 

“Want to get something at the bakery?” Agnes asked. 

It was as if nothing had happened before. They were juniors, those subjects could wait for another day. Jude nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They set off to the bakery, talking about nothing, done with serious topics- they didn’t need more of that. Agnes was already running ACC questions through her head, drilling through everything she’d studied in the past week. Sometimes it felt as if her head was full of only information, and maybe a couple feelings on the side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's okay tim skin care routines are important  
> does anyone want to theorize with me about the cars universe? no? good choice  
> thank you for reading im tired :)  
> anyway, as always, stay oh so Funky, and ohh soo Fresh! Yeehaw


	37. 2/17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! apologies for the shorter than usual chapter today- this was meant to have an Agnes part to it, but i had less time than usual to write, and still wanted to get a chapter out for y'all. my normal writing time was taken up by my first appointment at the gender clinic (!!!!) so that's very cool, but i also had much less time to write lmao

-Martin Blackwood-

-2/17-

“Your usual, Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin stood in line in the familiar place that was PanoptiCoffee, a cozy haven of tea and books amidst the damp English streets. From behind the counter, his student Annabelle leaned forward to take his order, a rainbow dangling from one ear and a spider from the other. Sometimes Martin still felt uncomfortable ordering his drinks from a student, but hey, at least she was getting paid for it. 

“Yep,” Martin said. He handed over the amount he knew by heart now- (PanoptiCoffee didn’t take cards for orders under ten pounds)- and walked to the side as Annabelle began to make his drink. Usually Agnes stood behind the counter with her, but he could just vaguely see her flame red hair through the window to the back room. 

He’d gotten there a few minutes earlier than usual for Saturday meetings. Sometimes Jon would be there twenty minutes early, and sometimes he would be fifteen minutes late- unsurprisingly, Jon lacked punctuality at times. Martin didn’t mind, not by now. 

Pressing himself against the wall as he waited, Martin noticed a familiar head of black hair in the corner of the room, hunched over a few papers on the table. She stood out to him amongst the small amount of people scattered around the room, a face he’d sat across from many times. For a moment, he debated whether or not it would be a good idea to go talk to her- but Annabelle was still working on his order, and she looked to be writing something. Martin would aptly regard that as his specialty. 

Martin walked quietly to her table. She somehow managed not to notice him, pouring over her work. With pursed lips, Martin cleared his throat. Her head snapped up to look at him. 

“Hey, Jude!”

Jude didn’t look incredibly enthusiastic about his interruption. She sighed and put down her pen, giving him a tired look. “Mr. Blackwood. Hello.”

Contrary to popular belief, Martin  _ could  _ take a hint. He just didn’t always feel the particular need to act on it, especially not with students. “Sorry, I’ll- be out of your way soon here, just wanted to know if you’ve given any more thought to that particular contest I sent you.”

Jude paused for a moment. “You mean the, uh, Fairchild Prize for Teen Writers?”

Martin nodded. “That is indeed the one. Thought about it at all?”

“The name’s familiar,” she said. “Fairchild, I mean.”

“You’re thinking of Simon Fairchild. He’s on the Board of Education- apparently his grandfather created the contest, you know, some sort of philanthropic rich person thing? Anyway. The prize for first place is five hundred pounds, second place one hundred, and third place basically- gets bragging rights? I think you should go for it, though.”

Jude clicked her pen a few times, biting her lower lip. She glanced down at the papers on her table. “Yes, I- started something for it. I’m… okay with doing it.”

Martin tried to hold in his smile, to keep some sort of sense of professionalism, despite his sheer excitement at Jude’s willingness. “I- uh-  _ fantastic,  _ then, we can-” Martin was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind him. 

He turned his head, and there stood Jon, holding a coffee cup in his hands. He held it out to Martin. “Annabelle- asked me to give this to you. It’s been ready.”

Graciously, Martin took the drink. “Ah- right. Well, Jude, as I was saying, we can discuss it further when we meet after school this week. Jo- Mr. Sims, I assume you know Jude?”

Jude frowned, more so than she had been already. “Yes. I have two of his classes.”

Jon crossed his arms. “Sociology and CP World- yes, I have her.”

“Oh- great?” Martin looked between the two of them, feeling the palpable tension in the air. He was met with a silence that needed to be resolved. “Well, it was- good to see you, Jude. Jon, let’s sit down?”

Martin led Jon away from Jude’s table and to where they usually sat, their chairs placed in the bright sunlight next to the window. Martin pluncked himself down in one of the seats and took a long sip of his tea, sighing at the end. “That was a- strange- interaction there.”

Jon chuckled. “Jude isn’t exactly one of my best students.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Every other teacher  _ constantly  _ says that, but she turns in nothing but great work in my classes!”

“Yes,” Jon sighed, “your English classes. It seems that’s the one subject she bothers to- put her intelligence to use for. If she only  _ applied  _ herself to other classes, perhaps she would actually-”

“I think there’s more going on,” Martin interrupted. “Jude, she- it’s not that simple, you know? It doesn’t seem like she comes from the best home life, and really, I would know. If nobody is motivating her, why would she-  _ apply herself-  _ to what she doesn’t see as useful?” Pausing, Martin glanced across the room. “We should probably stop talking about Jude. She is here, after all.”

Jon shrugged. “Perhaps- perhaps we have Sasha try to get her in guidance again.”

“I doubt Jude would go,” Martin said, shaking his head. “I want her to win this contest- just so she knows she can  _ do  _ something. Well. Anyways, it- it’s not important, not right now. We’re here for your book, yes?” Still flustered from the previous topic, Martin pulled out marked-up manuscript pages from his bag. 

Jon ran a hand through his long hair, staring down at his own matching pages, which were significantly less annotated. “Did you, ah- get to chapter fifteen?  _ The Realities of Medieval Knighthood _ .”

Martin flipped over a few papers and nodded. His eyes scanned over the first page of chapter- a nuance grammar note, a suggested sentence switching, and a topic Jon had listed in the first chapter that was never discussed in-depth in the rest of the chapter. “Uh- yes! I did.” He passed over the papers. 

As Jon speed-read through the marked pages, Martin leant back in his chair, doing his best to ignore the way Jon’s hair fell to frame his face and the small tip of his tongue that stuck out when he concentrated. Jon bit his lip in focus and grabbed the pen from Martin’s side of the table, scribbling on something, crossing a sentence out and then another action Martin couldn’t identify. The quiet stretched out a few minutes too long between them. 

“So, uh- haven’t really seen you around much this week,” Martin said. Jon didn’t seem to hear him, still hunching with his glasses only centimetres away from the page. “...Jon?”

Jon’s head snapped up, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Uh, sorry- yes?”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Martin rushed out, a phrase that had nearly become instinctual when talking to Jon. “Just- noticed you haven’t been around so much this week. Not that it’s- you know, it’s not really my business, and  _ I’m  _ not one to talk, but- you alright, Jon?”

Jon hesitated. “Yes, Martin, I am- fine. Quite alright.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be  _ that  _ convincing,” Martin chuckled. 

Jon raised a couple fingers to his temple as if afflicted by a headache. “No, I’ve- you- really want to know?”

Taken mildly aback by this question, Martin nodded. “Uh- yeah, I guess?”

“Band practice. We’ve only been having sporadic practices these past few months, but there’s a gig approaching next month and we would like to be- well rehearsed.”

Somehow, amid all of his other feelings over the past couple months, Martin had entirely fucking forgotten that Jon was the lead singer of his favorite band. He resisted the very strong urge to facepalm right there and then. 

“That’s- well, that’s amazing, Jon! I don’t think you’ve had a gig since we’ve met.”

Jon frowned. “The band was- busy. But we’re debuting some songs off the newest album, as well as a setlist of songs from our other albums as well- it should be a good night.” He opened his mouth as if to continue, then closed it, searching for words. “You- could come. If you’d like.”

Martin beamed without reservation. “I- yes, absolutely! I’d love to see y- the band.” He covered his mouth to quiet an overjoyed laugh. “That- honestly sounds incredible, just-  _ yes. _ ” 

Jon bit his lower lip in a controlled display of facial expression, but he did nothing to stop the edges of his lips quirking upwards. For a moment, he looked as young as he really was, free of any lines on his face, his dark circles brightening. “Ah- good, then. Good.” A common transition for him, he cleared his throat and hit the bottom of the papers against the top of the table, shifting them into a perfect stack. “So, chapter fifteen-”

“I’m honestly a bit surprised Daisy and Basira didn’t ask you and the band to play their wedding,” Martin said, his mind still on The Mechs. He barely registered that Jon had started to say anything. 

“They- don’t know,” Jon huffed. 

“ _ How _ ?!” Martin asked. “You’ve known them for years!”

“They wouldn’t have had us play anyway,” Jon said. “Too expensive, not enough space, you- you know how it is.”

“You’re in a band and didn’t let your two friends getting married know,” Martin laughed.

“Something wrong with that?”

“No, not- not  _ really,  _ just- funny, is all.”

Jon grumbled something Martin couldn’t catch. He took a sip of his drink, likely a London Fog. Martin knew the other’s order by heart at that point. “A- about the wedding, Jon.”

“Ah- yes, Martin?”

“...Thank you.”

Jon hesitated to answer. “Do you mean- for driving? Because that really wasn't a-”

“No, no,” Martin said, looking carefully for his next words. “For- what you said. Outside. To be more vague about it, I wasn’t really in the best spot the past month or two, as I’m sure you know by now. I’m- better, getting better and all, but- still kind of in that spot, you know? But I appreciate everything you said out there.”

Forks clanged against plates in the coffee shop. Outside, people passed on the pavement, some chatting in pairs or walking quickly with a cell phone pressed between their head and shoulder. Some indie song played over the speaker in the shop, just faint enough to be indiscernible but loud enough to be heard. All of this noise jumbled itself in Martin’s head as he awaited Jon’s response.

“No one’s ever exactly regarded me as the greatest listener,” Jon said. “But- well. I  _ am  _ here.”

“Yeah,” Martin smiled, “I know. And I- appreciate it, Jon, I really do.”

The sun brightened in the sky, just about to begin its golden descent. It floated at that blinding level that could give you a nasty headache while driving, but Martin didn’t mind it so much as the light caught Jon’s eyes, a deep hue that faded into amber where the sunlight fell. Martin knew the sight well, and yet it always managed to surprise him. 

“Let’s- work on that novel, yes?”

Martin nodded, uncapping a red pen from his bag. “Yes, ah- yeah. So, chapter fifteen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, loves!!   
> again, apologies for the shortness of this one, but i wanted to get Something out. should still be able to stick to my chapter schedule though. thank you all for your amazing loyalty to this fic and the incredible support i continue to receive- it really does help, more than any of you know. 
> 
> again- i would love to expand this fic's playlist, and if you have any suggestions for songs you think suit this fic, i would absolutely love to hear them in the comments!! here's the link:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL48r33yOvMyemTaP5AWaM5UPy9WdJ-MJy  
> as always, stay Funky, and absolutely stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	38. 2/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally the second part of wednesday's chapter hence the half length but anyway please enjoy some slight emotional distress

-Agnes Montague-

-2/20-

Annabelle’s head was warm on Agnes’s lap, her torso stretching out to lay on the chair between her and Jane, Annabelle’s legs propped on the other girl’s lap. She’d noticed a pattern of Annabelle sitting in the strangest of ways- yes, strange even for a gay person. Annabelle let her head hang back as she huffed. “I am- fucking deceased.”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s unfortunate. Maybe someone should get the corpse off my lap.”

“No!” Annabelle explained, turning toward Agnes’s stomach. “I am a comfy corpse. Don’t disrespect my final wishes.”

Across the room, Agnes watched as Michael drew on the back of Gerry’s hand, a swirling colorful pattern made of Sharpie. The five of them waited in the classroom for Julia and Nikola to arrive. Both had been in school that day, and Mr. Banks insisted on only starting the GSA meeting when all members were present. Agnes was okay with this. It gave her a moment to breathe in the middle of the school day. 

“I thought Jude was going to start coming to GSA?” Jane asked. “I have a book I wanted to lend her.”

Agnes shrugged. “She told me she has a thing with Blackwood today. She’s, uh, doing that whole writing contest thing I think.”

“Yeah, good for her with- that,” Annabelle said. “Weird how it’s a Fairchild thing, though.”

“Literally one google search can tell you that the Fairchilds and Lukases are both crazy wealthy families.” Jane pulled Annabelle’s leg back onto her lap as it began to drift off. 

“And they can’t spare a couple hundred to help our bathroom project?” Agnes asked, sighing. “Old fucking tories.”

Agnes turned the door as she heard it open, old and creaky on its hinges (half of this damn school seemed to not have been renovated since it was founded). In walked Nikola with her stiff, staggering gait, a movement that looked stilted as if she’d been injured years ago and never properly healed. On her heels was Julia. 

At the front of the classroom, organizing something behind his desk, Mr. Banks looked up at them. “Ah- good. Nikola, Julia, you’re here.”

Hearing this comment, Annabelle straightened up with a groan. The group settled into their usual desks and Banks hopped up onto his. It had become something of a normality for him to sit on top of whatever desk he chose for the day, slightly elevated over the rest of them. The air settled casually that way- less student-teacher, more student-advisor. Running a tense GSA would be a difficult thing. 

Everyone quieted, the only sound in the classroom being the capping of Michael’s pens. Agnes felt safe in Banks’s room- the desks were arranged in small clumps, the back of the room populated with sinks and chemistry equipment. Interspersed on the walls, Banks hung cute little science related posters, most of them unbelievably dorky. Besides Sims’s room, Agnes spent the most time in here. 

With a tired sigh, Banks began the meeting. “I’m just going to get right into it, folks. You all have been doing fantastically with our renovation project- organizing, fundraising, advertising, all of it. You’re a great group of kids. But we just- haven’t been pulling in enough funding.” He paused, a look in his eyes far more melancholy than resulting from a lack of funding. He hadn’t been exactly acting like himself lately. 

“The Board of Education emailed me. Apparently, if we don’t have five hundred pounds more in the next month- they’re cutting the project.” He chuckled, a humorless sound. “I’d pay it myself, but on a teacher’s salary that’s a few weeks of groceries for me, and… well, it doesn’t matter.”

The GSA sat in a far less comfortable silence than before. 

Agnes would pay for it herself, too, except for the fact that her mum’s hours were shrinking and shrinking and shrinking. She paid for the groceries now and would have to pick up the phone bill soon too, it seemed. She could tell everyone else was thinking the same- Annabelle and Jane about university, the others likely lacking any money to think about at all. 

From across the room, Gerry spoke up. “Cutting. The project.”

“Well, I guess they need a new gymnasium floor,” Banks huffed, spreading his arms wide open in a display of annoyance. “Yes. Cutting the project.” Banks let his arms fall down, a slight hunch of his shoulders. Agnes’s heart sunk, both from this news and the expression of defeat on her teacher’s face. 

A sudden sense of determination jolted through her. “Mr. Banks, when exactly do we need the money by?”

Banks scrunched his nose, looking off to the back of the room. “Uh- the last day of March, I believe. They weren’t exactly generous.”

Annabelle put her hand on Agnes’s knee under the desk, the only thing that could keep her calm in that moment. Agnes sucked in a deep breath. “Right. Okay. Right.”

Apparently, they’d waited too long to start the meeting. The bell rang to signify the end of advisory. With heavy hearts, the group pulled on their backpacks, ready to file out of the room in much worse moods than they’d been in before. But seeing Banks stare at the floor, hopeless in his own classroom, Agnes stopped Jane and Annabelle in the doorway. 

“You guys can head to lunch without me,” she said, throwing a glance back over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you there, yeah?”

Annabelle opened her mouth as if to ask why, but closed it. She nodded. “It’s, uh- it’s nachos grandes day..? If that informs your decision of whether to actually come?” They were both expecting the rolled eyes that came from Jane whenever the school had ‘nachos day,’ or as she called it, the ‘worst possible nightmare version of what one might be able to call chips covered in cheese.’ Such claims were valid- Jane’s mum made what was perhaps the best authentic Mexican food in all of the UK. 

Laughing, Agnes nodded. “I’ll be there, even if only to be a vessel for listening to complaints.”

The other two left, the sounds of their voices fading as they walked down the hallway. Agnes let all the other members of the GSA leave as she stood next to the door, one hand on the strap of her backpack. Finally, only she and Banks were left in the classroom. He barely seemed to notice her, just flipping through a packet of papers on his desk with those constant dark circles. 

Agnes took a few steps toward the desk. They were still slotted into that atmosphere of student-and-advisor, one where Agnes could talk much more personally with Banks. Nothing unprofessional, of course, but it wasn’t as if he’d just been teaching her about vectors. 

She began to speak, causing Banks to nearly jump in his surprise. “Mr. Banks- are you alright? We can find a way to get the money, you know.”

The edge of his lips quirked up into a smile. “Thank you for your concern, Agnes, but I’m- fine.”

Largely an unconvincing answer. 

“Well, the GSA is always here, yeah?”

“I’m just as upset about the funds as the rest of you are,” he sighed. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright. Please, I don’t want you to miss lunch just for me.”

Agnes shifted her weight to one foot, unsure, but deciding to let off. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Banks.”

He gave her a tired goodbye, and she almost felt bad leaving the classroom, despite the fact she had no responsibility here. Banks was a grown man. Still, he’d done so much for them- it only felt right to try to help him. Or maybe it was deflection, or maybe it was a way to forget about the problem at hand- the big problem at hand. One the size of about five hundred pounds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that is on oliver having feelings... bro i am so sorry  
> anyway, this was the last official February chapter! there will be a fun bonus episode coming Wednesday that isn't fit into the storyline of this fic, but i hope you all still find it cool. then we move to march, which will bring... Fun Things for y'all :)  
> that's all i've got for you today!! say Funky, of course stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	39. Bonus Chapter- Pieces of Paper (Thirty-Nine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An assorted variety of pieces of paper. Not a normal sequential chapter, and these are from multiple points throughout the fic. Back to regular format chapters on Saturday, folks.

_A scrap of stationery paper, magneted to the refrigerator door in one Georgie Barker’s home, written in the scrawled handwriting of Jon Sims._

Georgie-

Thank you for letting me crash last night, I appreciate it. 

Wasn’t exactly the best time for me to be alone. As I 

promised, I’ll call you later about the Oliver thing. And the 

Martin thing. Please tell the Admiral I love him.

Happy New Year’s-

Jon  
  


_A lined paper, folded and slipped into the front pocket of Michael’s sequined backpack. (The paper has been there for weeks now, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t looked at often)._

2/14

Michael, 

Gertrude took my phone and I’m grounded- apparently sixteen year olds aren’t supposed to commit _light, harmless_ arson. Which I knew, obviously, but I just haven’t gotten caught before. 

Anyway, I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day. I know we wanted to go on a date today, and we still can, just maybe in a couple weeks or so. But Gertrude let me write a letter and put it in your backpack, and hey, if it was good enough for Pride and Prejudice, it’s good enough for us. 

I don’t think I’ll get to see you at all today, which is why I’m writing this. And yes, Valentine’s Day is mostly a capitalist ploy, and yes, I could say all of this to you any other day I wanted to, but all this damn pink has me in the fucking spirit of it all.

Number one, I love you. That should be obvious by now, I think, given how I’m just about addicted to saying it, but I do and I won’t hesitate to tell you again. I love all your weird, amazing little quirks and the way your hair gets tangled every day. I love your confidence and how you’re not afraid to stand out- because I am. That’s part of why I need you around, I think. 

Number two, you’re the raddest fucking person I’ve ever met. Like the combination of every 80’s song and cryptid legend. Which makes no sense and I know that, I do, but it feels right to me. I’m working on a playlist for you, if you want it, but that’s not the point. You’re just cool, you know? And you read all the books I recommend and give them back to me with little notes that make me smile, which is so nice because I need to smile more. I’ll admit that. 

When my mom died, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pick up the pieces of me. Not that I liked her that much, and you know about the situation with her and my dad, but it was still a part of me gone. I haven’t quite filled in all those pieces yet, although Gertrude and Sims helped a lot. But then you came along- and it was like a superglue to mend together some of those pieces. Not all of them, don’t flatter yourself, I’ve still got my issues, but you help hold me together and I like to think I help you too. 

Thank you for being you. That’s what it all boils down to. Thank you.

I love you,

Gerry

  
  


_A note that was once tucked into a box containing earrings- two dangling rainbows, perfect to compliment spiders of a similar size. The note never made it to the receiver of the gift, and instead is now in the bottom of a rubbish bin in a teenage girl’s bedroom, almost but not quite forgotten._

Dear Annabelle, 

I hope you like my Christmas gift! It’s rather gay, just like you (and me), so I thought you’d appreciate it. They’re about the same size as your spiders anyway. 

Even if you’re my secret Santa, your friendship is the best gift I could ever get. I just wanted to let you know- you’re my best friend. You even take precedence over The Concierge, and I don’t say that lightly. I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say here. But you mean a lot to me and this feels like the season to say it. I’m always here for you, okay? Please remember that. 

With love,

Jane

  
  
  


_Poems by m.k.blackwood_

_(Written in the back of notebooks stained from tea and rough at the edges_

_There are doodles in the margins- plants, a few smiley faces, an eye design he’d seen somewhere_

_Collected over a period of several months)_

  
  


_Tendrils_

One reaches out a soft hand, the touch of a lover;

There are smiles and shuffles and awkward greetings.

I watch from the edge, from through a one sided window

Something stolen that I never truly had

He is handsome and he is dark, a swirling painting of grace

A shadow come to life yet far less silent. 

I watch him step cautiously

Calculated, careful

Until they fall together into an embrace

Here I am on the outside,

Watching my love and his own love tangled together

He is tall and dark and reaches out as if with tendrils

They are ensnared in his roots and his veins.

I am not a painting

I am not crafted delicately with an expert hand

I am not a man of sharp angles

That cut with the softest of knives.

I am an approximation

I am an idea clumsily concepted

And I stumble through my own thoughts.

My love is trapped in tendrils,

I have no hope of untangling them. 

For I am me and that is not quite enough,

And for him I want only the best.

  
  
  


_Decaying God_

She loomed as a God when I was young

An apron-weilding banshee, howling louder than the boiling of the kettle

She made me a war, my body a battlefield of scars and my mind a land mine

She made me a war, but never a revolution. 

She made me a battlefield, tearing myself apart to be her golden child,

My deep, bone-marrow bitterness regimented by my desire to love her,

My apologies for not being the son she wanted

Coupling prettily with the need to gouge my father’s sparkle from my eyes.

Now, I am no longer young

And she looms over nothing. 

The only thing her brittle fingers wrap around is a bottle of cold water

The only glint in her the eyes the cold fire of hate and disgust

Her hate bathed me, numbed me, reminded me

That cruel mothers are still mothers

My mother taught me, early, 

That sometimes, women give birth to pain instead of children

  
  
  


_Loving Him_

Loving him didn’t take a shape I recognized. 

I thought love was supposed to be comforting. 

Kissing him would be so easy that it frightens me,

The question morphing from “How could I ever love him?”

To “How could I ever stop?”

His love isn’t sunlight

His love is something dark and rich, red wine to my chardonnay

Sitting next to him, I feel as though I am drinking in eternity

As thought I could lose myself in him again and again

And still never learn the way

He looks at me like winter looks at the first thaw of spring

But somehow, that look is better than never seeing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, folks!  
> I know this wasn't a conventional chapter, but I felt like this fic needed something else slipped in here before a rather exciting March period. (Fun stuff coming up in here).  
> I'm a horrendous poetry writer, so big big thank you to @SecretBluebird for writing 'Decaying God' and 'Loving Him,' two poems which I'm absolutely in love with. (I tried my hand at some poetry with 'Tendrils,' ahaha End jokes- but I'm not quite sure how it turned out).  
> That's all for today, my lovely people! As always, stay Funky and stay Fresh! Yeehaw!


	40. 3/05-06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got nothin to say folks enjoy the chap

-Agnes Montague-

-3/05-

_sent 6:21 a.m._

**me:** hey hey annabelle did you see ScienceDaily this morning

 **spider bitch:** You are literally the only person I know who checks ScienceDaily every day

 **spider bitch:** Also what the actual Fuck bro it’s not even 6:30, i need my beauty rest darling

 **me:** you’re not already awake by 6?

 **spider bitch:** Ew dear god no

 **me:** Huh

 **me:** anyway

 **me:** there’s big news for the science community today, a private launching company just announced a new station to the public!! it’s supposed to be a research vessel far more advanced than the ISS

 **spider bitch:** Cool?

 **spider bitch:** I don’t know what you want me to say luv it ain’t even light outside yet

 **me:** it’s AMAZING

 **me:** they’re looking to focus on chemistry in zero gravity And And And they’ve designed a chamber that would allow for fire on the station! so they can do experiments on the behavior of flame in space!!!

 **spider bitch:** Sounds like a very scientific and exciting death wish!

 **me:** it’s going to be called the Daedalus and all the pictures are incredible, the station is absolutely fascinating

 **me:** it’s some company called Stratosphere doing the project, they’re English based

 **spider bitch:** Daedalus? Isn’t that the dumbass in greek mythology that got his wings melted off bc of the sun?

 **me:** no no no that was his son Icarus

 **spider bitch:** Annnnd point for the Magnus Owls!

 **me:** shut up lmao

 **spider bitch:** Absolutely will do, I’m going back to sleep, you are fucking ridiculous <3

\- - - - -

Agnes dropped the stack of books onto the lunch table with a loud _thud._ Around the table, her friends looked up at her with tired, confused eyes. Agnes slid herself into a seat and spread the books out, obviously the only one with any ounce of energy. 

“AP Test practice books, folks. Everyone take one and then we trade in a week.”

With a groan, Annabelle set her head down on her forearm. The plastic spider hanging from her ear splayed out on the table. “Agnes, it’s _March.”_

“Exactly!” Agnes said with a smile. “The tests are in late May. These aren’t midterms, people, two and a half months seem a reasonable timeframe to study for them. It’s for university credit, after all.”

Jane leaned over and took the music theory book, flipping through it and cringing slightly. Jude joined Annabelle in a groan. “If the test is later in May, why not start studying in May? I’m just going to forget all this shit by then anyway.”

Agnes handed her the AP English book. “Then you go over it again in May. This month is for storing the information in your subconscious memory. Copy your flashcards to the inside of your eyelids.”

Shaking her head, Jude took the book with a small but fond smile. “This is- pretty ridiculous, you know that?”

“And we still have ACC nationals this month too,” Annabelle added. “And _then_ the musical next month.”

Agnes knew Annabelle was right, but tried to push that to the side in her brain, desperately forming new and rapidly collapsing space for information. “That’s why we’re starting now, then.”

“Well, _I_ appreciate it, Agnes,” Jane said. “Who wouldn’t want to test out of like, four required classes in uni?”

Lunch was less a time for eating and more a time for rapid studying and _some_ talking when it came to Agnes. This first Monday of March, she’d have drama right after school and then she’d run directly to PanoptiCoffee to get there in time for a shift ending at eight. As for her _mum,_ Agnes didn’t have a single clue where she’d be. Work, hopefully. Therapy would also probably be good, but that wasn’t likely. 

Jude sighed and slipped the English book in her backpack. Looking back up at Agnes, she lifted her eyebrows. “Can I go get my shitty lunch now? Because I will gladly stay for any more PSA’s,” she chuckled.

As they usually sat next to each other, Agnes lightly punched Jude’s arm. “ _No,_ no more- PSA’s. But if you sit here any longer, I can’t promise it’ll stay that way.”

\- - - - -

let’s go spooky lesbians let’s go

_sent 11:33 p.m._

**spider bitch:** Who is UP for some CRIME???

 **me:**??

 **janey:** annabelle. please stop whatever you’re planning

 **perryromaniac:** no no, let her speak.

 **spider bitch:** So i religiously check on the website of sims’s band right, the Mechs

 **me:** oh yeah, that- how did we forget about that?

 **janey:** well obviously annabelle didn’t lmao

 **spider bitch:** They’ve got a gig this Friday, some place in Brixton

 **perryromaniac:** oh?

 **me:** O H ?

 **spider bitch:** However- it’s eighteen and up

 **janey:** aw, that sucks

 **me:** that’s not going to stop you, is it? i know annabelle she already has a really bad plan

 **spider bitch:** Oh no, I don’t have a bad plan!

 **spider bitch:** What I DO have is four fake IDs!

 **perryromaniac:** i’m not sure i want sims to see me at his space pirate performance.

 **spider bitch:** So we sneak in! Easy

 **me:** how?? one long trench coat, sunglasses, and a fedora?

 **spider bitch:** You all have very little faith. It saddens me

 **janey:** i’d have to lie to my parents about where i’m going though

 **spider bitch:** Oh holy shit jane i forgot you had parents who actually cared lmao

 **me:** that’s so weird?

 **perryromaniac:** some would even call it comical. 

**janey:** all of you have so many issues

 **me:** <3

 **spider bitch:** Well, Anyway- we’re going. And Jane, do try to lie to your parents, despite how absolutely terrible you are at lying

 **janey:** i’m not THAT bad

 **perryromaniac:** you know this is a terrible idea?

 **spider bitch:** Yes

 **perryromaniac:** well as long as you’re aware i guess.

 **me:** what time does it start?

 **spider bitch:** Eight thirty, bright and early my friends

 **me:** you stress me out so much

 **me:** meet at my place?

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/06-

“So, tell me- what’s new with you, Mart-o?”

A freshly poured thermos of tea in hand, Martin sat down at a metal table in the break room. Next to him, Tim sat with his elusive and constant relaxation, one leg crossed and his foot twitching at a steady rhythm. Martin set the tea down and passed it slowly between his hands. 

Early March provided white, clean rays of sunlight that soaked the break room in an even glow. Soon the season would morph into an early spring. Martin would miss the winter, yes, but there were things to love about the spring months. Flowers, for one. Birds’ nests. Soft rain that fell to revive the world. 

Martin unpacked a sandwich from his bag, slightly squashed but still edible. There was no food in front of Tim- sometimes it seemed like coffee, weekly takeout, and ‘exceptional charm’ (in his own words) were his only fuel. Obviously, his qualifications for teaching Health classes abounded.

Martin shrugged at his question. “Not- not all that much, really. I’ve been trying out a new recipe for peanut butter cookies- oh, and I have a student who’s just entered a writing competition. Results are out in a couple weeks.”

Tim nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Cookies. Students. Very exciting stuff, Martin.”

“At least I’m not drowning in the darkness of my own flat,” Martin chuckled. Lately, he’d been able to joke about the experience a couple months earlier. It helped, sometimes. It helped when he joked to the right people- and the right people included Tim, always. 

“That’s true, that’s true,” Tim said. “Anything new in the _love_ department?” He raised his eyebrows a few times, a picture of exaggeration. Martin rolled his eyes. 

“I’d tell you immediately if there was, Tim, and you know it.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, there- _is_ something coming up.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to one of Jon’s shows on Friday.”

Tim made a small gasp. “You mean the band you made me swear not to tell anyone about?”

“That’s the one,” Martin laughed. “It’s- I don’t know, weird? I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m friends with the lead singer of a band I’ve loved for years. Not that they’re _celebrities,_ exactly, but it still feels strange.”

“I still don’t know how you didn’t realize it was him for almost a month,” Tim said. 

“Well I thought he was a total dick for most of that month.”

Tim thought this over. “I guess that’s true. So, you uh…” he leaned over as if whispering something scandalous, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You two gonna _celebrate_ after the performance?”

Martin almost choked on a sip of his tea. He wiped it from beneath his lower lip. “I- _Tim-_ he doesn’t- we’re not like that!”

“But you _want_ to be.”

“Well, yes, but-” Martin sighed. “He’s important to me. I can’t throw that away, you know? Sometimes he looks at me so nicely and sometimes-” a line from one of his poems popped into mind- “he looks at me like he’s winter and I’m the first thaw of spring. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t trade that for. I can’t be stupid, Tim, it took us long enough to become friends, and even after that there were some bumps.”

Tim nodded, pressing his lips together. “Do you want to know how Sasha and I started dating?”

A flood of fond warmth ran through Martin at the thought of the two of them together. Tim and Sasha worked like a ticking clock, inevitable and constant. He wanted what they had, but was glad they had it anyway. “Uh- sure.”

Settling back into his chair, Tim traced the lid of his coffee cup, looking away from Martin and off into the distance. He pressed his tongue against the inside of one cheek. “We’d been working together for a few years, as you know. Guidance counselors and gym teachers don’t exactly participate in too many of the same meetings, but we fell into the same group of friends- which was much less exciting before you got here, by the way.

“For two years, we were friends, and close friends at that. I thought the same way as you did, it wasn’t much worth the risk to ask her out if it made things awkward between us. And then every day it just got harder and harder not to kiss her. And then, one day, she kissed me. It- went a lot farther than that, actually, and it was _great_ because she’s great, and we didn’t even have a minute to talk about it all.

“So then we didn’t talk about it. For months. We just kept going on like usual, as if nothing had happened, even though we both knew it did, because I _swear_ we weren’t that drunk. And then the next time, I was the one who kissed her, and I did so- better. Slower. Nicer. When it couldn’t move as fast. And we _had_ to talk, and then there was a first date and it was a little awkward, but it was good. And now I couldn’t imagine _us_ any other way.”

Martin let out a breath, deep and heavy in the bright break room. Around them, other teachers bustled around- Helen and Adelard sipped from mugs and leaned against the counter, engrossed in conversation. Hopworth was doing _something_ weird in the corner of the room (Martin didn’t like to look at him for too long). At a table near the window, Amherst nibbled at the edge of a bagel, one Martin swore had a small but of white fuzz. He looked away. “What- what’s your point, Tim?”

Shrugging, Tim uncrossed his legs. “Don’t do what I did. You can wait, but for christ’s sake, don’t wait two years, and don’t tack _another_ four months onto it either.”

Martin checked his phone. There were only about ten minutes until the next period started, and he needed to prep his classroom for it. Martin downed the last bit of his tea, took another bite of his sandwich, and then stuffed it back into his bag. “Jon isn’t- Jon isn’t Sasha. He is definitely far less in tune with his feelings, and _far_ less functional.”

“You’re correct about that, Mart-o,” Tim chuckled. 

“I have to go set up for my next class,” Martin said, standing up. “You coming over on Thursday again this week?”

Tim snapped him a couple of signature guns. “You fuckin’ know it, bro.”

Shouldering his bag, Martin left the break room and started the short walk back into his classroom. His shoes clicked on the hallway tile, a sound he recognized as _authority_ when he was in school. Martin still didn’t feel like an authority figure, and he had no idea if the kids did either. 

_Don’t wait two years._

That was easy for Tim to say- Sasha actually liked him. Martin knew, when Jon looked at him, he didn’t feel nervous. Martin didn’t take Jon’s breath away at the simple sight of him like was true the other day around. He tried to convince himself that it was fine- he could deal with that. 

There would be no spontaneous kissing or anything further, or awkward first dates and sweaty hands that just managed to brush each other. Martin knew this and he tried to make peace with it every day. In the meantime, he’d go to Jon’s gig and edit his book. They’d talk and they would text and it would be wonderful, even if a part of Martin never stopped aching and longing for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agnes is the student i simultaneously want to be and am also very afraid of being lmao  
> also, i'm sure you can guess what the next chapter(s) will be about... things will get fun :)).  
> that's all i have for today folks!! as always, thank you for reading, and thank you so much for all your wonderful comments- they mean more than you know <3  
> as always, stay Funky, and stay Fresh!! Yeehaw


	41. 3/09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gig: part 1 of 3(?)  
> probably 3 parts to this one  
> i mean. it's a mechanisms performance i can't put it all in one chapter that'd be blasphemous

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/09-

In front of his mirror, Martin turned from side to side, staring at himself in a futile attempt to decide whether or not to tuck his shirt in. Another familiar face stared at him through the glass, one that lounged on his bed as if without a single care in the world. 

“Come on, Tim, which shirt?”

Tim crossed his arms on Martin’s bed. “Christ, you see the man every day, Martin, did you really need my help with deciding what to wear?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Martin said. “You have- way more style than I do. You even manage to pull of Hawaiin shirts, something that still confuses me at times. This isn’t just like every  _ day,  _ it- feels different.” He sighed. “Just tell me whether to wear the green one or the white one.”

He didn’t immediately receive a reply. Holding up both shirts on their hangers, Martin glanced between the two and switched them each in front of his chest. Tim bit his lower lip and swung his legs down from the bed to rest on the floor. “What’ll the lighting be like there?”

With a huff, Martin lowered the shirts and his shoulders, glancing back at Tim behind him. “Want me to do soundcheck while I’m at? Maybe break the setup down when they’re finished?”

“You asked for my help, and therefore you are not allowed to question my ways.”

“Well, Tim, I don’t  _ know  _ the exact  _ dim  _ setting they put on the place.”

“Sheesh, a bit snappy, are you tonight?”

Martin sighed and turned around to fully face Tim. “Sorry, I’m just- nervous, I guess. Didn’t mean to snap. I just want tonight to go okay. I don’t want to- to freak out, or anything, or make a fool of myself, or get one too many drinks in myself and say something stupid

From the bed, Tim flashed him one of those winning smiles. “Wear the white one. With the flowers.”

With a relieved ‘thank you,’ Martin hung the green shirt back in his closet. He set the other down and then crossed the room to the bed, bouncing a bit on the mattress as he sat next to Tim. Martin pulled his legs in and held them bent and crossed on the bed, still in sweatpants. T-minus an hour and a half until the show started. 

“You’re going to have a great time,” Tim said, giving Martin a gentle clap on his shoulder. “Just- you know, drink a lot of water too.”

Martin chuckled. “Thank you for the advice, Tim, although I’m not quite twenty-two anymore.”

Tonight, Martin would be watching one of his favorite bands perform. Even just that would be exciting, but this time, he would be seeing an all too familiar face up on that tiny stage. All the years Martin had listened to that voice, rich in range and tone. The situation demonstrated what Martin’s luck was usually like. 

“ _ Now, _ ” Tim said, standing from the bed, “go get changed. I need to see it on you to make a  _ proper  _ judgement. I’ll be in the living room.” He went to open the door and stepped one foot out of it before looking back. “Unless you want me to stay? Because that can be arranged,” he joked. 

Martin rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable. Go into the living room and think about what you’ve done.”

With a dip of his head, Tim stepped out of the room. “Sir yes sir.”

The door closed with a slight click, and Martin was left alone in his bedroom. He took off his jumper and buttoned up the shirt, white and peppered with a tasteful red floral. It was one of the few items of clothing he liked the way he looked in. He combed his fingers through his hair and took another glance in the mirror, a hint of a smile on his face.

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-3/09-

Agnes’s shoes hit the pavement only a moment before the bus doors closed behind her. She adjusted her bag and glanced at her friends, who instinctively formed a clump to talk. It was already dark outside, and encroaching closer to pure black every moment with only about half an hour until the gig started. The four girls grouped together under a streetlight. 

“It’s really c-c-cold,” Jane shivered, wrapping her coat tight around herself. “C-can’t we just go inside?”

Agnes raised her eyebrows, barely feeling the temperature at all. Then again, she did run warm. 

“We can go inside in a minute,” Annabelle said. She reached into her bag and dug up a few thin pieces of plastic. She handed one to each of them, and Agnes looked down at hers.

“Uh… Molly Catherty?” Agnes asked, inspecting the young brunette woman on the fake ID. 

Annabelle shrugged. “For tonight, my dear Agnes, you will be the dashing Molly Cathery. She’s 20 years old and here to have a very good time.”

With uncertain glances, each of them pocketed the ID’s. Agnes turned around to face a small building, their destination for the evening. It was an old establishment- the exterior constructed of dark oak and warped windows. A dim glow emanated from the inside, warm and inviting. Agnes could just barely hear the din of laughter and conversation. 

Jude gestured to Jane. “She looks like she’s about to freeze, for some reason, and I want a drink, so let’s get inside, yeah?”

As the four began to make their way to the pub, Annabelle shivered as well. “I have no idea how you two aren’t cold. I am in physical pain.”

Agnes and Jude looked at each other with a small shrug. “We run hot,” Agnes said, a teasing smile on her face. Agnes opened the door for the rest of them and felt the rush of warm air. Even if she hadn’t been particularly cold outside, the temperature inside could be described as nothing but cozy. The four walked in without anyone even paying them a glance. 

“See? That went well,” Annabelle said, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into the pockets of her jacket. At one end of the room, a small stage reached from wall to wall, a door right by it. A few microphones, a set of drums, and an eclectic group of instruments rested upon it. 

Agnes led them to a four-top against the back wall, where they hopefully couldn’t be easily spotted from the stage. She draped her coat along the back and sat down, relaxing into the comforting atmosphere of the pub. At a multitude of tables scattered through the room and on stools at the bar, people smiled at each other and leaned in close, still early enough at night to be casual but late enough to feel the buzz of alcohol. 

She’d never been in this kind of setting before. As Molly Catherty, she could be. 

As the others settled into a light conversation, waiting for the band to come out, Agnes noticed a familiar head of red-blond curls at the front of the room. It took her a moment to discern the person’s identity from behind, but as she did, not a small amount of panic rose in her chest. 

“Guys- guys,” Agnes said, interrupting something Jane had been saying. As she often did, Jane quieted at Agnes’s urgent tone. “It’s- Mr. Blackwood. Blackwood is here. Mr. Blackwood is here, guys.”

Jude groaned. “We probably should’ve expected another few teachers to come, huh?” She paused. “God, and it had to be Blackwood, too. If he saw me here, we’d not only have to leave, but I genuinely think he’d never let go of it. He already mentions the fight back in December all the time.”

The fight- Agnes had nearly forgotten about it, or perhaps just pushed those memories away. Maxwell bleeding on the floor, Jude standing triumphantly over him with her fair share of injuries. Agnes didn’t want to admit how much she’d  _ liked  _ the image, but that’s why it stuck in her brain. The fire in Jude’s eyes still made her stomach knot. 

“What do we do?” Jane asked, casting a nervous glance to the front of the room. “I- I really can’t get caught here, my parents think I’m at Annabelle’s birthday party.”

Annabelle put her hand to her heart. “And you didn’t even  _ get  _ me anything?”

Deciding to ignore this comment, Agnes looked for a solution. “It’s unlikely he’ll come back here anyway. Just-” she dug an old hair tie out from her bag and pulled her hair into a ponytail, something she almost never did- “put your hair up differently or something.”

Jude and Annabelle, both with short hair, looked at her with deadpan expressions. Agnes pressed her lips together. “I guess I had that coming. Just- wear your jackets and put the hoods up,” she said. Jane followed her previous direction, letting her hair out of its usual braid. It fell long and wavy halfway down her back. 

Agnes tensed as Mr. Blackwood stood up, although there were quite a few tables between them still. He looked to be talking with someone in odd clothes with steampunk goggles placed on his head, a man with long and curly hair. She let out a breath as Blackwood followed the other man through the door next to the stage without even turning his head to them. 

“Well, who wants a drink then?” Annabelle asked, pushing herself up from her chair. 

Agnes settled further into her seat. Now all they had to do was wait for the show to begin, and they’d get to see Sims singing and chanting in a metric ton of eyeliner. The concept really did make the situation worth it. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

Without even a moment of thought, Martin could easily name the man in front of him. Tim- or rather, Gunpowder Tim- a man with a prettier voice and even prettier hair. Martin was almost tempted to ask what conditioner he used, but realized at the last second that that may not be the best first impression to make. 

Tim held out his hand. “Hey! I’m Tim, it’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot from Jon.”

Trying and failing to control his smile, Martin shook his hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you too! All at least mediocre things, I hope?”

Tim shrugged. “That’s rather subjective- ah, well, anyway. I was wondering if you wanted to come into the green room. We’ve got about twenty minutes until start.”

“Did Jon say he wanted me there?” Martin asked, taken aback. He could barely imagine that. 

“Well, not  _ exactly _ ,” Tim said. “But he honestly may have well have told us that. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind anyway, and the rest of us would love to meet you.”

The thought of meeting the members of his favorite band and hanging out with them backstage before a show was certainly appealing to Martin. He barely thought before answering- “yeah, that sounds fantastic!”

Tim smiled, stepping back and gesturing to the green room door with a flourish. “Right this way, then, my friend.” His weathered brown jacket swished around his hips for a moment, a piece of clothing Martin had only seen in pictures. Then again, that was true for the rest of this Tim as well- not  _ his  _ Tim.

Martin followed him through the door and into a small room. There, the many members of the band sat in front of mirrors or leaned against the walls, talking or warming up. Immediately Martin searched for Jon in the room, and found him leaning over a table, staring into a mirror as he carefully applied eyeliner to his face. The design branched out from his eyes, extending onto his forehead and cheeks. 

Jon saw Martin through the mirror and jumped from the surprise, jerking his one hand and creating a jagged black line above his eyebrow. Martin held in his urge to laugh as Jon swore and searched for a makeup wipe. A bit reluctantly now, Martin took a few steps closer. 

“Martin, I uh- didn’t know you’d be in- here,” Jon stammered. He’d managed to clean the accidental line from his face. 

“Tim invited me back,” Martin said, gesturing to the man in the corner, who’d engaged himself in a conversation with a woman who had long hair and fake wings. “I get to see the room where all the magic happens, I guess.”

Jon leaned close into the dirty mirror again and finished off a dark line, his tongue pressed between his teeth in utmost concentration. He looked-  _ good  _ in eyeliner. Better than good. As an English teacher, Martin could have come up with a far more robust description in his flowery inner monologue, but his brain had momentarily short circuited at the sight of Jon in all edgy steampunk wear and he’d need a full reboot to restore all that vocabulary. 

At the very least, Jon looked  _ good.  _

Putting a cap on the eyeliner pen, Jon gestured to the empty seat next to him. Martin wondered how such a thing could even be available, considering the large number of band members in the small room, but he took the offer anyway. 

“The eyeliner looks nice,” Martin said, getting a clearer look at it now that he faced away from the mirror. Jon nodded. 

“Ah- thank you. It still takes me longer than I’d like, but such is the price for cohesive musical and physical aesthetic.”

Martin glanced at a clock on the wall. “So, fifteen minutes until you guys are on, right? How- are you feeling?” he asked. 

Jon shrugged, his leg bouncing on the stool. “Better, actually- better than I’ve been. We haven’t performed in months, and I’ve missed it.”

“Let’s hope you’re not too rusty then,” Martin chuckled. 

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Was that a Mechanism pun?”

With Jon, Martin found it easy to drown out all the white noise around him. He could concentrate on Jon’s face, on the rich timbre of his voice, and everything else could be ignored. Nothing mattered as much as him, simple as that. “Not intentionally,” Martin laughed. “Well, I’m excited for the performance, no matter how it goes. It’s not every day you get to hear your favorite band play, especially not with a lead singer you personally know.”

The edges of Jon’s lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “Favorite band?”

“I mean, yeah,” Martin said, his voice softening. “I guess I’ve given you the honor of being my favorite. Wield your power for good?”

Jon let out a short laugh, less stilted and cautious than usual. Martin heard a genuine happiness in it, just a melodic undertone. “I promise I’ll handle that responsibility with utmost care.”

There was a loud knock at the door of the green room. The window had a pattern formed into it in such a way that only the blurry outline of a person could be made out on the other side. The band members turned their attention to the door, and a woman cracked it open and stepped inside. “Just a bit over ten minutes, folks. You can go out and get set up if you like.”

A man with golden makeup on half his face responded for the group. “Thanks, Donna, we’ll be right out.”

The woman, Donna, it seemed, shut the door. The band busied themselves with packing up any makeup and making any final touches. Martin wiped his hands on his trousers- apparently, they’d started to sweat. “So, I’m taking that as my cue to head out?”

Jon tilted his head. “That would- likely be best. Enjoy the show?”

“That seems to be my end of this deal,” Martin said, standing up. “Break a leg.”

With one hand on the door knob, Martin was ready to leave, but he heard a voice from behind that he knew well. “Are you- Martin?”

He turned around to see a woman with a hat and a painted on mustache- he couldn’t remember her real name, but knew the character to be the Toy Soldier. Martin let his hand drop from the door knob. “Yep, that’d me.”

“Just wanted to say hello before the show began!” she said with a smile. Strangely, the woman reminded Martin of a student at the school- Nikola Orsinov. Without any basis for this comparison, Martin forced it out of his mind. 

“It’s great to meet you,” he said. 

She crossed her arms. “I assume you’re here to see Jon?”

“I’m really here to see all of you,” Martin said. “But- yes. Mostly because of him, really.”

The Toy Soldier nodded. “I did think that’d be the case. I do find you two boys rather endearing- you make a very good pair.”

And  _ that’s  _ why he was reminded of Nikola. Oh the crypticness of it all. “I don’t- know what you-” he sighed. “Uh, thank you, I guess.”

She nodded curtly and was back in the crowded areas of the room once again, disappearing just as quickly as she’d come. Martin glanced once more to Jon at his table before opening the door and stepping out back into the pub. For a moment, he thought he recognized someone in the back of the room, but they looked away and the moment was fleeting. 

Martin sat back down at his table close to the stage, arguably the best seat in the house. He smoother out his shirt. The white one, with the flowers, the result of Tim’s advice. Martin was glad for his input. He felt confident, like for once, he had a  _ chance,  _ maybe a bit of charm to the imperfect smile of his.

As the band filed out onto the stage, Jon locked eyes with him for a few seconds, not in an unpleasant way. A clear understanding passed between them. When Jon finally broke his gaze away, Martin took a sip of his drink and settled back into his seat, as ready as he could possibly be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am tired and i wrote this all in two and a half hours after ballet class, my brain hurts goodnight <3  
> stay Funky, stay Frrrrresh! Yeehaw


	42. 3/09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mechs gig part 2/3, enjoy the chapter luvs

-Agnes Montague-

-3/09-

The sounds of an eclectic group of instruments filled the pub and spilled over the edges like a frothing drink, bleeding into the air around them and the building itself. As the night darkened, the lights inside somehow became warmer, the dark oak nature of the walls soaking up however much of the glow they could. Buzzed people smiled and laughed and filled the room with a lofi-esque ambience. Sometimes, there’d be a particularly loud or mirthful laugh that rang through the pub, and everyone would smile and relax a little further into their seats, safe and warm for the night. 

That was the nuance, though. Agnes noticed the nuances of her surroundings, but far more glaring in the pub was the flourish at the end of a song. Her most serious and professional teacher stood on a stage and crouched down with a microphone held in his hand, his face moving quickly and contorting as he aggressively sang. Agnes watched this all with rapt attention. They were good, she could give them that. 

Agnes looked away from the stage and to the others at her table. With an almost defeated expression, Annabelle rested her head on one hand. 

“You good, Annabelle?” Agnes asked, leaning past Jude to get a better look at her. 

“Absolutely not,” Annabelle said. “I’m having a crisis here. Sims is kinda hot up there and it’s stressing me the fuck out.” She glanced down at her empty glass. “And I’ve only had one drink! My senses aren’t even impaired yet.”

Jane covered her hand with her mouth, giggling. She looked up gleaming eyes. “I- Annabelle, you think Sims is hot?”

“I am into  _ women  _ and women  _ only, _ ” Annabelle said, pushing Jane’s arm teasingly. “But- objectively, he- yeah, I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Jude nodded. “Good choice on that one.” Raising her phone to face the stage and zooming in, Jude took a picture of Sims with his head tilted back and sustaining a note before the next verse was taken by another member of the band.

Agnes craned her neck to see the picture on Jude’s phone. “How many pictures-”

“ _ And videos, _ ” she interrupted. 

“How many pictures and videos have you taken __ tonight?”

Jude smirked. “More than enough to send to Gerry.” She then looked at Annabelle, one eyebrow mischievously raised. “And yes, I’m also telling him that you said Mr. Sims is hot.”

Annabelle groaned and let her head fall onto the table. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?” 

Heads were collectively shaken. 

The song ended on a strong strum from a guitarist, and most people in the pub clapped or cheered, ranging from polite applause to enthusiastic. Fans of the band, Agnes assumed, or perhaps Mr. Blackwood had managed to separate himself into three different voices just to cheer for the group- considering his obvious excitement, the theory didn’t seem all that outlandish. 

Jude started to type on her phone. “Are you actually texting Gerry?” Jane asked, another laugh on the edge of her lips. That girl had only been drinking club soda and she still seemed tipsy. 

“You can be fucking sure of it,” Jude chuckled, finishing off her message and clicking her phone off. She set it down on the table, which looked like a long slab of rustic wood. Agnes often found herself letting her fingers run along the slats in the tabletop. 

Annabelle pushed herself up from her chair. “Seems like the set is gonna end soon- anyone want another round before we go?”

For a moment, Agnes debated whether or not to, but the more rational part of her brain lost that argument. After all, she didn’t get to do this kind of thing often. Even if it was easy to leave the house once her mum inevitably fell asleep early, she didn’t exactly have much spare time for it. Friday nights, though, were for her friends, and she promised it to herself they’d stay that way. 

Agnes stood up. “Yeah, I’m down.” She looked at Jane and Jude. “You guys want anything?”

Jane shook her head, having not yet finished her small glass of club soda. Jude turned down the offer as well, leaving Annabelle and Agnes to turn their faces away from where Blackwood or Sims could see them and weave through the tables to the bar. It had been a decent half hour at least since they’d gotten their first round. 

Trying to avoid the many scattered chair legs, Agnes kept her gaze mostly to the floor. This is why she almost fell when Annabelle tugged on her arm just a few metres from the bar. 

“Annabelle, what the-” Agnes closed her mouth upon seeing Annabelle’s slightly panicked face. Agnes looked in the direction Annabelle stared in, and froze. “Ah. Fuck.”

There, behind the bar, stood an all-too-familiar face- that of Danny, loveable goofball and barista extraordinaire. Or, Agnes thought while watching him mix a drink, bartender extraordinaire as well. Before she had the chance to walk away, Danny caught her eye. 

Quickly, Agnes whipped around and pulled Annabelle behind her, whispering “ _ go go go! _ ” The girls navigated through the tables until finally sliding into the chairs at their own table, eyes wide. Jude’s gaze flitted between them with confusion. 

“Are you guys..?”

Annabelle dragged her palm down her face in a tense moment of silence at the table. The song the band played was low and heavy. “Danny- behind the bar- we’re so totally fucked,” she groaned. 

With a sigh, Agnes hung her head. “Maybe he didn’t recognize us? Because it was pretty quick? I mean, it’s kind of dim in here?” She received no response. “Yeah, we’re fucked.”

“Should we get ready to go then?” Jane asked, fidgeting. She sent a quick look over to where Danny still stood behind the bar, pushing a drink toward someone on a stool. He wasn’t watching them. 

“I guess so,” Annabelle sighed. “Damn, I really wanted to watch through the whole show.”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “You’re a big steampunk space pirate fan?”

As she said this, the words  _ drunk space pirate _ ! were shouted from the stage. 

“They sound good,” Annabelle said, rolling her eyes a little. “We should go, though. I want to get out while we still have the chance to do so without-”

“Hi.”

A voice came from the end of their table- Danny’s. Agnes closed her eyes for a moment as if that would make the situation go away, but then opened them and turned to look. “Danny… hi.”

As if nothing was wrong, Annabelle leaned on her elbow with a slight smile on her face. “Danny! It’s great to see you. How are you this fine evening?”

Obviously holding back laughter, Danny dragged up a chair from the empty table beside theirs and deposited it at the head of their own table. He sat down and looked each of them in the eye. “My job at PanoptiCoffee pays enough for my rent and my groceries, and not much else. I need this job to afford to actually be a person.” He paused, looking around at each of them again. “So now I’ve explained why I’m here. How about you guys go next?”

Jude grimaced. “Would you believe me if I said I’ve only been drinking soda?”

Danny shook his head. 

After a moment of silent tension, Jane snapped. “We came for The Mechanisms because our teacher Mr. Sims is the lead singer and we wanted to see him perform. We snuck in and have fake IDs.” She paused. “I’ve also only been drinking club soda.”

With a snort, Danny nodded. “Okay, yeah, I do actually believe you on that one.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll keep all of this from James?” Agnes asked, cringing as she did so. 

Danny shrugged. “I was catastrophically more stupid at the age of sixteen than any of you four were. Not as bad as my older brother, but my parents had to deal with  _ two  _ idiot teenage boys at two different times, which really does suck for them,” he said. “No, I won’t tell James. I know you two need your jobs, not that he could afford to fire you anyway. But you know that you  _ do  _ have to leave, I can’t get in trouble for this.”

“Yeah, I think we pretty much got that,” Annabelle said. “Thanks for being so chill about this. You’re the best.”

Danny gave them his famous charming smile, higher on one side and showing a glint of white teeth. “I am fully aware of that fact.”

Awkward goodbyes were said and then Danny was back behind the bar, taking tips and shaking drinks. Agnes watched him work for another moment before pulling on her coat. At the front of the room, Sims began to talk in a deep, low voice, one that reverberated off the walls and reached down to your core. Agnes pulled her hood over her head and looked out of the corner of her eye, watching him stare out at the audience. 

And then, soon enough, they were once more outside in the cold, cut off from the warmth and light inside. Their breath hovered white in the air. The four of them grouped together and stood on the pavement, directionless, aimless. The faint sound of singing bled out from the pub. 

Annabelle wrapped her arms around herself with a slight shiver. The night was clear but it was also cold, a bleak combination of silver moonlight and biting wind. “I don’t really want to go home yet.”

There was a brief moment of quiet before Agnes responded. “Me neither.”

Under a streetlight, she could easily see the faces of her friends, tired but strangely hopeful. They were teenagers-  _ juniors,  _ for god’s sake. And Agnes never had the time to live. But, tonight, maybe she could. 

Jude nodded. “I can’t go home. Not yet, not tonight.”

Everyone looked at Jane, who shivered and shuffled her feet. She sighed. “I told my parents the birthday party didn’t end until ten at least, so-” she paused- “yeah. Not going home yet either.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/09-

“And then, and  _ then-”  _ the woman with the red hair laughs (Martin knows her only as Ivy)- “he  _ passes out  _ in the line next to the carousel, so fucking security has to come over, and- and-” she dissolves into tipsy laughter much too early to finish the story, which is alright, because the entire group was already close to tears from the story, drinks in hand and the words flowing. 

Jon pretends to pout but can’t hide the smile on his lips. “It was hot and there wasn’t anything to drink, I did  _ not  _ pass out from riding the carousel,” he chuckled. He was warm, sitting right next to Martin. Martin felt the heat as if it were heightened. Thick black lines decorated Jon’s face and he still had his goggles on, a look Martin shouldn’t have liked as much as he did. 

Martin sat with the band members at a long table in the pub, or rather, two tables pushed together to accommodate each of them. He barely knew any of their real names and resorted to calling them the names of their characters in his head, knowing he’d have to learn them at some point. 

Nastya smiled at Jon’s antics. “You’re  _ tiny,  _ Jon, you keep drinking like that and you won’t even remember the gig,” she laughed. 

“Which was  _ fantastic _ ,” Martin added. “I still can’t believe I actually got to see you guys in person tonight, I mean really, twenty-one year old Martin would not have seen this in the cards.”

“We aren’t exactly celebrities,” the Toy Soldier said. “Most of our shows are free anyway.”

Martin took a sip of his drink, the only one he planned to have all evening- he’d driven himself there. “Well, young Martin still wouldn’t have expected to be talking with you all either way. He probably would’ve passed out like Jon after a carousel if he knew he’d be close friends with one,” he said. 

Next to him, Jon ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “I, ah- close friends?”

Even the smallest amount of alcohol really could make Martin an idiot. He tried to speak, and his tongue remained stuck to the roof of his mouth, which suddenly felt quite dry. “Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to, uh-”

Jon interrupted his stammering after downing the rest of whatever was in his glass. “You don’t have to apologize, Martin.” He paused. “How  _ did  _ it take you a month to realize I was Jonny D’Ville?”

There were snorts around the table upon hearing this. Raphaella laughed into her hand. “A month- really, Martin, you seem a lot smarter than that!” Everyone’s adrenaline from the show and the buzz of intoxication mixed to form an atmosphere where everything was incredibly funny, and Martin wasn’t immune. He laughed at his own willful ignorance at the start of the year. 

“I probably would’ve realized earlier if Jon hadn’t been an asshole at first,” Martin teased, sending a fleeting glance to the other man. Jon combed his fingers through his long, undone hair, which had whipped around during the show every time he really got into the music. 

Tim, or Gunpowder Tim as he was labeled in Martin’s mind, nodded to this statement. “That’s our Jonny boy. Did he manage to intimidate you despite being four feet tall? Because he intimidated me,” Tim chuckled. 

Jon feigned offense. “I am  _ not  _ four feet-”

“No, no, he’s right,” Martin said. “I’m pretty sure I could literally jump over you like you were a strangely pessimistic hurdle, and yet you managed to actually make me a little bit frightened in your present, how  _ do  _ you do it?”

Jon huffed. “I need another drink.”

\- - - - -

About an hour later, the pub had almost completely emptied out. Behind the bar stood a man cleaning up who Martin vaguely recognized. He reminded Martin of Tim, actually,  _ his  _ Tim. The two had the same smile and the same nose. 

Even their table was beginning to clear. A few members of the band already left, saying their goodnights and promising not to drive themselves home. Eventually, only a few of them were left. Raphaella and Ivy went to the green room to pick up their things and that left Jon and Martin alone at the table. 

Martin took a few pounds from his wallet and set them underneath his glass as a tip. When he looked back at Jon, he seemed almost falling asleep, one side of his face resting on his hand. Martin smiled. “You a bit tired there, Jon?”

As if snapping out of a dream-like trance, Jon blinked a few times. “I, ah- yes? Yes. No.”

“Christ, you really are a lightweight,” Martin chuckled. “Did you drive yourself here?”

Jon hesitated to answer this. “I uhhhhh- yeah, yeah, I think I did. Long night, huh?”

“Well you are definitely not driving yourself home,” Martin said. He took a moment to think. “I’ve never driven to your flat before, do you think you’d be able to-” Martin stopped speaking when he saw Jon with closed eyes. Not quite asleep, but close. 

“That’s not going to happen either.” He sighed, and tentatively reached out to tap Jon gently on the shoulder. Jon opened his eyes and blinked them a few times again. “Come on, let’s get going then.”

Martin stood up from his chair and then helped Jon to do so as well. With a wave and a thank you to that poor bartender, the two of them were out of the building and into the cold night air once more, the streets still and quiet around them. Not many people were walking around at this hour on a night in early March. 

Martin opened his car door for Jon, who essentially fell into the passenger side. He circled around the car to get in the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life as beside him Jon took slow and heavy breaths, almost curled up against the seat. Jon’s hair hung in his face as he pressed his head against the fabric, somehow still cute with messed up eyeliner and visible exhaustion. Martin couldn’t begin to imagine how much energy one of those shows took from the main narrator. 

And so, with Jon his responsibility for the night, Martin began to drive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi and thank you for reading!!  
> it makes me feel Weird and Icky to write real people into fanfics so like,, think of the mechs in this as just the band The Mechanisms and not the real band members who actually exist? idk if that makes literally any sense at all? but that's why i avoided using real names and such lmao i would just really rather not  
> also i got an accordion today and i feel like the world absolutely needs to know that  
> that's all i have for you lovely folks tonight! so as always stay Funky, and stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	43. 3/09-10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here here take this

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/09-

Hand trembling from the cold, Martin struggled to unlock the door to his flat. He jimmied the old thing open after a few tries and swung open the door. Behind him, Jon stood against the brick wall of his building, looking both dazed and apart from his surroundings. As he flipped on the light switch inside, Martin questioned how such a short and thin man as Jon didn’t yet know his limits.

Jon stepped inside and Martin closed the door behind him, first shrugging off his own coat and then helping Jon with his even heavier one. Without even a word of acknowledgement, Jon flopped down on the sofa. He turned on his side with his shoulder shoved into a split in the back of the couch. 

“This,” he paused, apparently needing a moment to think, “this is where you live?”

Martin hung up the coats. “Indeed it is.”

Jon smiled with less hesitation than he would sober, a warm smile without any prickliness. He sunk deeper into the faded secondhand sofa. “Hm. It’s  _ nice _ ,” he mumbled. 

Shaking his head in amusement, Martin looked around the room. Two of the walls were nearly covered by bookshelves, and none of the furniture matched, just an eclectic mix of whatever was cheapest at the charity shop when he needed it. The plants were nice, though, he could agree with that sentiment, as well as the few cross stitches he’d done on the walls. He wondered how things had gone with Jon’s houseplant he’d bought a few months earlier. If he were to be honest, the poor plant was likely dead. 

“Thank you,” Martin said. “It isn’t much, but- it’s home.”

Jon closed his eyes. “It’s… warm.”

“I can turn the thermostat down if you-”

“No no no no no,” Jon interrupted, his short words slurring together ever so slightly. “It’s-  _ warm  _ here. The lights and the blankets and the plants, all of it. Just… warm.”

“Oh.” Martin wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but it caused a swell in his chest that he hadn’t yet experienced around Jon. It was something akin to comfortable domesticity, having Jon in his flat. He looked like the last piece of the puzzle that makes  _ home.  _

But it couldn’t be the time to think about his dumbass crush- it couldn’t be. There were more important things to worry about. 

Martin walked over to his coffee table and pulled a blanket from its drawer (the others were strictly for show, after all). He bundled it up in his arms and passed it to Jon on the sofa, who grabbed it in an instant. “I could- take the sofa, or you could if you like, I really don’t-” Martin stopped, seeing that Jon didn’t seem to be paying much attention, fidgeting with the hair tie that he’d never witnessed come off that wrist. “I’ll just get you some water, then.”

About a minute later, Martin returned with a glass of water in hand. He dropped onto the sofa and handed the glass to Jon, who took a tentative sip. 

“You were incredible tonight, you know.”

Jon looked up at him directly for the first time since the pub, eyebrows slightly raised. “Thank you.” His lips quirked up into a smile that was almost teasing. “I do try.”

“Thank you for telling me about it. And inviting me. I was really glad to be able to be there and meet everyone.”

“They-” Jon hiccupped- “They were  _ really  _ happy, uh. Happy to meet you. They’ve been wanting to.”

“The Mechanisms wanting to meet me?” Martin chuckled. “You know, you really do make things interesting, Jon.”

Jon shrugged. “I talk to them about you all the  _ time _ , you know uh- um, I’d be surprised if they  _ didn’t  _ want to meet you.”

Normally, Martin would analyze that singular sentence for days, imprint it in his memory and drag it back up whenever he felt bored, but he dismissed it quickly this time. Jon was drunk; it’d be silly to read into much of anything. 

Martin cleared his throat, searching for any transition from what Jon just said. His eyes flicked over Jon, who sat with his legs curled on the sofa, eyeliner beginning to smudge on his face. Eyeliner. “Jon, do you need to- take off your eyeliner? I don’t have, uh, makeup wipes or anything but… there’s water?”

Jon shook his head not unlike a small child would, burying himself deeper into the back of the sofa. Martin hoped the eyeliner wouldn’t stain. “Mmmmmm _ no.  _ I’m a bit too tired for that.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty tired as well.”

It seemed like Jon was just on the edge of unconsciousness, his breathing gradually beginning to slow. Martin knew he needed to get up and go to his bed, he needed to sleep there, but it had been a long night and his limbs felt heavy. Jon was right- the room looked  _ warm,  _ with soft yellow lights and books and furniture of about three different patterns. 

Just for a moment, Martin let himself close his eyes. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Agnes Montague-

-3/09-

“Annabelle, where the fuck did you bring us?”

The four girls stood close to each other outside a boxy concrete building, Annabelle and Jane shivering with every chill that went by. Jude asked this question with one hand on her hip and her eyes squinting to get a good look at the building. 

Annabelle rooted around in her bag and pulled out a shiny plastic card. “This, my friends, is a state-of-the-art indoor pool.”

“There’s no way it’s open this late,” Jane said, checking her phone. The time glowed as 9:54- it had taken them a good few minutes to walk here, Annabelle leading the whole way. 

Annabelle shook her head. “You’d be correct with assumption, but when has that ever stopped me?”

Lit by nothing but moonlight, Annabelle’s eyes showed a mischievous glint, her eyes deeper and darker than they were in the day. The night perfected her features, the blue hint in the air glowing on her already dark skin. She smiled and it painted the world bright for a moment. 

“And how exactly do you plan on getting in there?” Jude asked, gesturing to the door. On the heavy metal, there was a slot for a card and then a keypad next to it. 

With a confident smirk on her face, Annabelle walked up to the door. “My family have been members of this place for years now. At least three of my older siblings were employees at some point, and all of them knew the passcode- the owner is a boomer and never figured out how to change it.”

Annabelle swiped the card. For a moment, a quiet beeping went off, as if the door wanted to alert of intruders but was too shy to do so fully. She quickly entered the code and the beeping stopped. A pause, a click, and then Annabelle swung the door open. 

Agnes and Jude exchanged shrugging,  _ why not?  _ glances and followed Annabelle through the doorway, Jane bringing up the rear. It was dark inside- pitch black. The only bit of light came from the moon shining in through a window. 

Then, Annabelle switched on the lights. They turned on in a succession, each fixture lighting up with a clicking noise in rapid order. Agnes stared, taking the place in. 

The first word that came to mind was  _ fancy.  _ Similar to the pub earlier that night, dark oak accented the interior, with empty booths and tables scattered around. They weren’t in the room with the pool, and instead stood across from a large bar, one with shelves practically overflowing with bottles of assorted liquor. Small chandeliers hung above their heads, strung with crystals and glass. 

As Agnes would’ve expected, Jude immediately found her way to the bar. She hopped onto it and slid her legs over, dropping onto the other side. She gazed at the shelves on the wall. “Hey, Annabelle, how careful of inventory do they take here?”

Annabelle smiled, one half of her mouth lifting higher than the other. “Most of the employees are older teenagers and young adults, so not nearly as careful as they should be taking.”

Needless to say, glasses were soon being filled.

Agnes remained gaping at the room. “This place is…”

“Beautiful?” Jane finished, still surveying as well. Agnes nodded. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle took a small bow. “I know, I know, I  _ truly  _ outdid myself this time, you don’t have to tell me. Now, my spooky lesbians, care to follow me this way?”

Glancing back at the bar, Jude was still mixing drinks, but she waved for them to go on without her. Agnes nodded her head to acknowledge this and kept walking. With a flourish, Annabelle opened another door, this one glass and leading to a much warmer room. 

Inside, a large pool glimmered in the dark. Only the upper half of the room had windows- likely for privacy of those swimming- and the faint light came through to fall just on the surface of the pool. Unable to control her smile, Agnes kneeled at the edge of the pool and ran her hand through the water. Warm, inviting. 

When Agnes looked up again, her eyes widened at the sight of Annabelle practically ripping off her shirt, revealing a black bra underneath. She did the same with her jeans, kicking them off to the side of the room. Then she was jumping in the pool and splashing water through the room, disappearing momentarily under the surface. 

Jane froze in place, her eyes trained on Annabelle’s body arising from the shallow part of the pool. The poor girl didn’t even look to be breathing. A reckless spirit rising in her, Agnes pulled off her shirt and let her hair fall from its ponytail, throwing her top layer of clothes to the side of the pool room and jumping into the perfectly warm water. 

She surfaced and started to laugh, laughed with Annabelle, splashing around and soaking through. Agnes’s collision with the water seemed to snap Jane out of whatever trance she’d been in and, more tentatively than the two others, she unbuttoned her shirt and climbed down into the water a minute or two later. 

The door to the room opened with the sound of a suction and in walked Jude, delicately carrying a tray of four glasses with her. In them was a light brown liquid, its color barely visible in the moonlit darkness. She stopped for a moment while looking at the scene in front of her but then appeared to simply accept it. The tray was laid next to the pool’s edge and soon Jude’s fingers were gripping at the hem of her own tank top. 

Agnes tried to avert her eyes, but couldn’t; Jude grabbed the top from both sides and slipped it smoothly over her head, revealing a body Agnes couldn’t stop looking at. She didn’t think she could handle the bottom half and forced herself to turn away, starting to swim and glide through the water. 

She took one of the drinks from the tray and tried a hesitant sip. Almost in shock, Agnes turned to look at Jude, who was now in the water and therefore safe to be around. “Holy shit, how are you so good at making these?”

Jude shrugged. “I have some experience.”

Agnes decided it would be better not to question that one any further. 

Annabelle had a sip of her own drink, eyes lighting up as she did so. “Remind me to ask you to bartend for my next party.”

“You have literally never had a party before,” Jane laughed.

“Okay, true, but knowing Jude could be the one mixing the drinks, I definitely  _ would  _ now.” Annabelle said this jokingly in a tone that suggested such a thing should be obvious. 

In the center of the pool, Jude floated on her back, her hands folded on her stomach and gaze to the ceiling. The ceiling had a skylight directly above her, and you could just barely see the stars through it, peppering the black and blue night. “So. What do we do know?”

“Is illegally swimming in an indoor pool after hours just excruciatingly boring to you?” Annabelle asked. 

Jude flipped over and stood up, her choppy black hair plastered to the side of her head. “Well, it isn’t exactly study night, no, but I was  _ wondering  _ if we wanted to  _ do  _ anything in the pool. Make things interesting.”

The friends pondered this for a moment, a silence spreading in the humid air. Jane shrugged. “Chicken fight, maybe? It’s what I always did at the pool when I was younger.”

A few moments later and Agnes sat atop Annabelle’s shoulders, readying herself like a performer before a show. She cracked her knuckles and watched Jude get hoisted up on Jane. At the same height now, the two faced each other, expressions a bit too intense for something so trivial. 

Annabelle tapped Agnes’s leg to keep time. “On 3… 2… 1…”

Immediately there was pushing and shoving, nothing too violent, but no soft blows either; both were determined. Agnes pushed on Jude’s shoulders, ignoring the spark of electricity it caused, but the move didn’t do a thing- Jude remained on Jane’s shoulders without so much as a wobble. Agnes, on the other hand, had to grab Annabelle’s head just to remain intact, a motion that caused much protestation and complaining from Annabelle. 

If chicken fights were what’d it take to touch Jude, Agnes would be willing to do so every day. 

As expected, Jude knocked her off fairly quickly, a decent round. A few times, the group would hear a sound from somewhere else in the pool building and freeze. But unlike at the pub, where Danny had blatantly caught them, no one came to yell or arrest them or force them away. 

The four of them stayed at the pool for more than an hour, progressively drunker and more ridiculous with every passing moment. Agnes knew she’d be fucked in the morning- that was just a simple reality and a sacrifice she was willing to take. 

Every time the light of the moon caught Jude’s eye, or highlighted the sparkle of water on her collarbone, Agnes burned the image into her mind. Swimming near her provided a perpetual warm spot in the water, somewhere between normal pool temperature and hot tub. Agnes had long since decided not to ask Jude about these things- the answers were consistently cryptic anyway. 

And so, there they stayed for what felt like nothing and forever both, until there was no choice but to don clothes over soggy underwear and brave the outside world again. Inside her house, Agnes could finally relax and think about Jude in the pool until she fell asleep, a truly wondrous luxury. 

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

  
  


-Martin Blackwood-

-3/10-

Sunlight flooding through his windows caused Martin to wake slowly, eyes opening gradually like the rising sun. For a moment, he was confused as to why he’d awoken in a sitting up position. Then he felt the painful crick in his neck, and then finally, a strange pressure on his left side. 

Unable to move properly, Martin turned his head and looked down. There was-  _ Jon-  _ legs pulled in on the couch, his head resting snugly in the crook between Martin’s neck and his chest. Jon’s shoulder and side laid on Martin as well, in what would be a crushing position if Jon weren’t light like a bird. (Martin sometimes wondered if the man had hollow bones). 

Every centimeter of them that connected felt like a spark to Martin, like his skin was burning in the best way possible. He didn’t move, of course not.  _ Jon  _ was sleeping on him. It made his heart both hurt and swell in the strangest and most conflicting ways, the warring realizations in him of what was happening, and the fact it’d likely never happen again. 

He couldn’t get too down on that, though. In the moment, Martin appreciated the peacefulness of Jon’s face. His dark hair fell tangled into his face, where a substantial amount of eyeliner smudged overnight. Martin noticed a significant amount on his jumper. 

Pushing away the thoughts that doing such a thing was probably creepy, Martin watched Jon sleep for another few minutes. The way he breathed in and out without his usual tension, the relaxed expression on his face, the sheer touch of another human being- especially Jon- that Martin had wanted for so long. 

Things couldn’t stay that way forever, though. A few minutes later after Martin, Jon did begin to open his eyes, slowly at first and then with a flurry of movement. Jon snapped into a sitting position, leaving a whole half of Martin’s body feeling cold and unprotected. Unlike his relaxed expression while sleeping, Jon looked at Martin with a surprised face and wide eyes. “I, ah- apologies, Martin.”

Martin shifted in his spot on the sofa, one that had seemed to make an imprint throughout the night. “Nothing t- nothing to be sorry for, Jon, it’s… perfectly alright.”

With a heavy sigh, Jon massaged his temple. “God, my head hurts.”

“Alcohol will generally do that to you,” Martin chuckled. He stretched out of his seat and tried to ignore what had just happened. Knowing them, they’d just ignore it. Move on. Business as usual. “Do you need some tea or something to help?”

Groggily, Jon nodded. “Yes, yes, ah- tea might help.”

As Martin walked to the kitchen to make tea, Jon’s questions were audible from the living room. “Did I do anything particularly-  _ idiotic _ \- last night?”

Martin scoffed. “You? Jonathan Sims? Idiotic? Obviously no, never,” he laughed. “But uh- no, I don’t believe you did.” A smile spread across his face. “Unless you count sleeping in heavy eyeliner, that is.”

The groan from the living room was nearly hilarious, but missed the mark and landed at just ‘incredibly funny.’ Perhaps Jon then found another mirror, because a clear “ _ fuck _ ” could be heard. 

A few minutes later, when Martin returned with the tea, he found Jon standing in front of the bookshelves, his pointer finger brushing over the spines. Martin set the tea down on the coffee table and gestured to a shelf. 

“About a third of these are poetry collections,” Martin said. “I have- you know, a lot of other books as well.”

Jon nodded, a disaster assessing shelves of books. “You love your art. I do respect that.”

“Yeah,” Martin said, smiling- “I do.”

Thoughts of the words drunk Jon had said dragged themselves back up in Martin’s memory. He knew they didn’t matter, not really. But with his clothes all rumpled and his hair messy and drinking tea from one of Martin’s mugs, he only adored Jon more. 

The missing piece of the puzzle that was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's one am my brain is a little bit not working right sorry for any typos lmao oh god im gonna be so fucking tired tomorrow  
> uhhh thank you for reading folks!! stay Funky and ohoho stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	44. Bonus Chapter- A Gerrymichael Halloween (Fourty-Four)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello happy halloween to all those who celebrate!! i felt like i needed to write a special halloween chapter considering it's Today, but halloween was already a thing in this fic, so here's some more of that same night but from a different perspective!   
> (cw- nothing particularly graphic at all, but there is some description of kissing in this chapter!)

-Gerard Keay-

-10/31-

The task of finding bright makeup was more than a difficult one for Gerry. 

In a compact bathroom in a small, one story house, the shelves behind the toilet were packed with sleek black cases- eyeliner and lipstick and dark eyeshadows, multiple boxes of cheap black hair dye from the pharmacy. Gerry liked the way he could drown out some of his features with the black. He could contour his face however he liked with it, creating sharp masculinizing lines. It was a wall of protection for him. 

Tonight, though, on Halloween, two palettes of brightly colored eyeshadow and a few liners laid out before him. Really, it couldn’t be all that much more difficult than his usual look- just replace the black with some pinks and yellows and greens. 

Down the hall, Gertrude closed a door. She didn’t do so with any unusual amount of force, but the impact still shook the house a bit, as he’d gotten used to. When Gerry moved in, Gertrude had already downsized from her prior home to accommodate her needs as she aged. But Gerry was used to not being an expected part of the equation. He’d learned to live as a variable. 

One of the first items he’d brought to the house was his extensive makeup collection. Sure, his mum had been unorthodoxly shitty in some rather esoteric ways, but at least she’d bought good quality makeup. Perhaps that made up for some of the trauma. Almost. 

Pursing his lips, Gerry brushed some of the sparkling yellow across his eyelid, a strong and defined pigment. He’d already dressed in the most colorful items he could find, not that he owned many. 

Gertrude’s heels clicked down the hall. She knocked on the door. “May I come in?"

Gerry responded with a yes, and Gertrude opened the door, stopping right in her tracks once she’d done so. “You’re quite the eyestrain tonight, I see.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m- dressing up as Michael for Halloween.”

“Michael?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. She leaned against the doorframe, spectacles tilted slightly down on her nose. “Are you seeing him tonight?”

Gerry nodded. “Yeah, we’re uh- going to this party tonight. That’s… alright?”

Gertrude shrugged. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you if it weren’t.” She squeezed past him and reached into the medicine cabinet on the wall, pulling out her weekly organizer of pills. It was interesting, actually, living with a woman who some may even describe as elderly. Gertrude moved with inexplicable ease for someone her age and hadn’t lost a single speck of wit or snappiness. He constantly wondered what Gertrude may have been like at thirty, and if she’d ever worn clothes that weren’t cardigans. 

She swallowed two pills without any water and went to leave, but stopped in the doorway. She turned back around. “You’re smart. I trust you will act it.”

Gerry nodded. “Well, I appreciate that. I promise to be my usual, intellectually sound self.”

With a curt nod, Gertrude left, leaving Gerry alone once again in their only bathroom. He sighed as he stared in the mirror, his usually tangled and undone hair tied into a semi-decent bun to show off his eyeshadow. As a finishing touch, Gerry swiped on a bright purple lipstick, smacking his lips together a few times to even it out fully. He turned side to side in the mirror, admiring the outfit he’d thrown together. He had no clue as to what Michael was dressing up as, but whatever he did, at least Gerry had this on his side. 

In his room (a converted office), Gerry laced up hot pink boots and grabbed what he’d need. His phone, keys in case Gertrude was asleep by the time got back, a lighter- as he always had on him- and his wallet. Gerry recently started never going anywhere without a lighter. He felt safer, more secure, with it in his back pocket. 

Maybe that was irrational, but he didn’t particularly care. Anything that helped after finding his mother, he’d do. Anything to make him feel safe again- to burn away the ghosts that haunted him. 

There was a knock from the front of the house. Gerry nearly ran to get to the door, doing so easily considering his well of experience with platform shoes. Night had already fallen and trick or treaters passed down the street, glowsticks and lit jack-o-lanterns lighting up the air. 

Gerry opened the door to a strange sight. Michael, but  _ different.  _ In all black. Wearing heavy dark makeup. And holy fucking shit was it hot. 

“Who- who are you supposed to be?” Gerry asked, looking Michael up and down. 

A teasing smile worked its way onto Michael’s face. “ _ You _ . Who are you supposed to be?”

Gerry couldn’t resist the urge to laugh at this point. “I- you? How did this-” he interrupted himself with his own laughter. “It- It doesn’t matter, you look… really good in that.”

Michael crossed his arms and smiled, his curly blonde hair falling lightly on his shoulders and down his back. “You do too. Color suits you.”

They stood there for another moment of awkward silence. Gerry snapped back into motion and shouted a goodbye to Gertrude wherever she was in the house, then closed the door behind him. “You about ready to walk to the party?”

Michael nodded and wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. “Indeed.”

\- - - - -

Shoulder to shoulder, Michael and Gerry sat on a staircase, looking out at the room of people dancing to loud and thumping music. The bass drilled into Gerry’s ears, shaking him to his core. He kept himself grounded and steady with the feeling of Michael’s arms against his, a connection that sent sparks and warmth through Gerry all at once. That also could’ve been a result of the nearly empty red solo cup next to his feet. 

Gerry downed the last bit of whatever cheap and shitty drink was in the cup- he didn’t remember and didn’t care. 

Next to Gerry, Michael fidgeted with his hands, tapping them on the side of his own cup. He turned his head to Gerry only slightly, looking at the other boy mostly from the side still. “Did you mean what you said?”

“When I said what?”

Michael sighed. “When we were with everyone else in the living room,” he said, “you said the makeup was hot on me.”

Ah. So they were being forward tonight.

Gerry bit his lower lip. “Yeah, I meant it. You… do.”

Chuckling, Michael nodded. “Do you want to tell me how I should interpret that, or must I do that part by myself?”

Gerry leveled his options here. Yes, he was a bit buzzed, and yes, he could barely hear himself think with this obnoxious music blasting, but some things were worth going for. They were right between the upstairs and the downstairs. If he played his cards right, this night could end very well, and if he didn’t- well, there was always more alcohol to go around. 

“No, no, I can interpret the meaning for you.” Gerry took a shaking breath, far more nervous than he let on. “I think you’re hot and I also think I should make out with you.”

Michael was silent for a moment. “Hm. Direct. I like it. I hate when other people confuse me. It feels that should really be my job.”

“Yeah, well, you are good at it,” Gerry laughed. “You wanna go upstairs?”

There were arms pulled and teasing smiles, leading down hallways until finally Michael opened a door and pushed Gerry against the cold tiled bathroom wall. Despite not being the one to ask for this, Michael was surely enthusiastic, with strong hands pinning Gerry’s wrists against the tile. His head rested on the smooth wall and he breathed heavily. With an almost hypnotic smile, Michael brought his hand to the side of Gerry’s face, letting his thumb trace the prominent cheekbone. 

And then, they were kissing, two stupid and intoxicated teenagers in the bathroom of a Halloween house party. The music only faintly reached them and every moment it drifted further away as if in a different plane of reality, another level than the one Gerry and Michael existed on. And it was  _ good,  _ so good, because Michael felt nice in Gerry’s hands and on his lips. They fit together in the clumsiest of ways. 

And just as Michael left his lips, about to search for contact elsewhere, the door to the bathroom swung open. They both froze at the sight of familiar flame-red hair.

“Oh- shit!” she said, and then the door slammed closed. 

Gerry pressed his lips together and looked up at Michael, resisting the urge to laugh. He spoke through the door, knowing she’d likely still be on the other side. “A- Agnes?”

From outside the bathroom came Agnes’s muffled voice. “It- it’s fine! Sorry!”

With an amused sigh, Gerry swung open the door and stepped back. He let Agnes take a moment to comprehend what was before her- he understood how their outfits could draw some questions from anyone who knew them. “Ah- what the fuck?”

Gerry could feel his cheeks warm. “We- we dressed up as each other,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. He stepped back to fully display Michael.

“I see,” Agnes laughed. “You don’t mind if I tell Annabelle and Jane about this, if you don’t see them tonight?”

Michael shrugged. “I have no problem with that.” He locked eyes with Gerry’s. “We do not have much to hide.”

Just that sentence alone made Gerry grin more than was acceptable, an almost embarrassing amount of red flooding to his cheeks. Michael had nothing to be ashamed of, apparently. Gerry was nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe, hopefully, this could be more than a quick make out or fuck in a back room or the bathroom of a party. The concept felt new to him.

Agnes also couldn’t hide her ridiculous smile, lighting up her freckled face .“I love you guys so much- anyway, I’ll, ah, leave you alone now,” she said, and then had the audacity to add a  _ wink  _ onto that statement. 

Gerry stammered for a response to that. “I- I, ah, no, it’s-”

Agnes was gone before he could finish, likely for the better. Gerry sighed and leaned against the wall. “Well, that was fun.”

Before he could exactly explain how or why, both of them were laughing hysterically, desperately trying not to ruin their makeup with cry-laughing tears. Gerry shook his head. “She- she was so confused!” he said between laughs. 

Michael nodded enthusiastically. “That- oh my. I believe we just made her night, Gerry.”

When they’d both calmed down, Gerry started fidgeting with a hair tie on his wrist- apparently a habit he’d picked up from a certain teacher. “Hey, so, do you want to..?”

“Continue where we left off?” Michael asked, taking a large step closer, his long legs covering an exceptional distance in a singular stride. 

Gerry nodded, almost breathless again. “Yeah,  _ that.  _ I was- I was wondering, since we, you know-”

“If we are dating?”

Gerry’s silence was more telling than anything- Michael had hit it exactly right. 

“I would very much like that, I think.” Michael lifted a gentle hand to Gerry’s shoulder, causing him to shudder for a moment. 

Gerry nodded. “Okay, right, uh great, that’s-”

Michael kissed him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, the sweet story of how michael and gerry got together. truly touching. heartwarming, if you will.   
> that being said, speaking of dating, i! have! a! girlfriend! a girlfriend who i actually met through a tma group chat, which is very pog To Me? like damn the things a podcast can do for your life, who would've known  
> happy halloween all you spooky fuckers <33 and as always, stay Funky, and stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	45. 3/12-3/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks. As many, many other US people are right now, I am incredibly stressed about the election currently happening- it's been a rough couple days. I almost didn't write this chapter because I genuinely felt like I couldn't, but then after I started writing, it felt really good to escape for a bit and pour myself into something that isn't checking statistics. I wanted to post today still so that anyone who is also feeling a bit shitty right now can spend a few minutes reading this, and maybe it'll help? I hope it can help someone. There's nothing emotionally tiring or distressing in this chapter, something I made sure of.

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/12-

A scene he felt he’d played many times, Martin raised a fist to the polished wood of the door to Jon’s classroom and knocked. Behind him, a few students rushed past each other in the hall, the light sound of chatter echoing off the tiled floors and metal lockers. On Jon’s door was a sign that said  _ Closed for Advisory,  _ but Martin had learned this didn’t apply to him.

He knocked and then waited a few moments, not wanting to barge in the room if Jon wasn’t ready. Considering his visits usually lasted a while, Martin regretted not bringing his mug of tea with him- even one that said ‘I put the Lit in Literature’ couldn’t keep a beverage warm that long. But he’d been too focused on the book he’d brought along and forgotten entirely. 

A tired voice came from inside. “Come in.”

Only slightly concerned, Martin stepped inside the classroom and closed the door behind him. Jon looked up with significant dark circles under his eyes- even more significant than usual, and that truly said something. “Jon, are you-”

And then he noticed the  _ desks.  _

Across the front two rows of desks, what could have been dozens upon dozens of index cards were scattered around the tops, a few even strewn about the floor. These were placed atop papers with highlights on them and scrawled writing that almost gave Martin a headache to look at. He cringed at the state of the room. “Christ, Jon, it didn’t look like this in here when you had students in class, did it?”

Jon shook his head and pushed himself off the floor where he’d been kneeling in front of a desk, despite a chair being right behind it. “No, no, of course not.”

Martin waited a few seconds for further explanation. When he did not receive any, he took it upon himself to ask. “So… what exactly is this all for then? Is this somehow related to that weird red string cork board in your supply closet, or..?”

“Ah-  _ no _ ,” Jon chuckled, “it is in no way related to my ‘mysterious’ and ‘creepy’ string board, which my students have insisted is those two things. I for one believe it to be perfectly normal.” He said the last bit with a self-aware tone that Martin loved about him, and Jon wore a sly smile as he leaned one arm on the desk. The sleeves had been rolled up to his elbow, exposing thin but defined forearms. Martin begged his eyes to look away. 

Jon let out a tired sigh. “This,” he gestured to the rows of desks, “is for ACC. We’re going to nationals, and the team needs to focus, but… so do I.”

Martin let out a short laugh and nodded. “You definitely have an interesting process of doing that, then.”

“Also didn’t help that Agnes, Annabelle, Jane, and that Jude of yours were at the Mechanisms gig. I’d rather they  _ didn’t  _ sneak into pubs and illegally order drinks, especially as nationalists on my team, but teenagers do what teenagers must.”

Martin breathed out, relieved. “So you also saw them there? They didn’t look as if they were doing anything too dangerous, but I didn’t want to tell you in case- well, I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem they got into any trouble.”

Jon shrugged. “I did a lot worse at their age, just- as long as they’re safe.”

Raising his eyebrows, Martin wondered what  _ that  _ could possibly mean. He had trouble imagining teenage Jon doing much more than jay-walking, but he could always be wrong. Martin mostly spent his teenage years escaping into books or playing Crash Bandicoot. 

“Are you…” Martin paused, considering his next words. “Are you alright with people in the school finding out about the band? Particularly the students?”

Staring with scrutiny down at an index card on the desk, Jon scribbled out a word and wrote something else on it. Martin could just barely see the word  _ Denmark  _ in the question. Jon put down his pen and ran a hand through tangled hair. “If it were anyone else, I’d be- more worried,” Jon said. “I… well. If word gets out, it gets out. 

“I mean, the top result on Google when you look up Jonathan Sims is The Mechanisms,” Martin laughed. He then realized the implication of this and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not- not that I’ve tried, or anything, I’m just- assuming.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t address this. “Ah- well, yes. I don’t exactly have the power to stop the ever churning machine that is word-of-mouth.”

The sun must have surfaced from behind a dark cloud, because suddenly the room became much brighter, the light flooding through the windows that lined two walls of Jon’s third floor classroom. Martin had come to love his own room very much- it felt a second home to him. But Jon’s classroom was different. The space almost conveyed the feeling of open air, a direct connection to the sky on two walls. Martin looked back to the room and remembered January, dancing with no music on, Jon’s arms around him. They’d never even danced at the wedding. But they’d danced here, and he smiled at the memory with fondness, pushing out all the memories of his stupid grudge. 

“...Martin?”

Martin snapped back into the current moment. “Hm, sorry?”

Jon chuckled. “I asked why you came in here. Was it just to talk, or..?” He motioned to the book Martin still clutched in his hands. 

As if he’d forgotten he had it, Martin looked down at the text he held. “Oh! Yeah.” He held out the book to Jon. “You uh, you flipped through this while you were… at my place. I thought maybe you’d like to read it.” 

Jon nodded once and took the book. The title read  _ Quechan Oral Literature, Volume I.  _ Martin didn’t own volume II or III and had no idea how he’d attained the work in the first place. “I don’t really need it back,” Martin said. “Not much of an oral person. Oral storytelling, I mean.” The sheer awkwardness one man could achieve astounded him every day, considering the record usually seemed to be met by him. 

Jon placed the book down on the desk. “Ah- about the, uh, the gig. Or rather, after the gig.”

Martin steeled himself for what could possibly come next. Could Jon be angry with him for bringing him back to his flat? All Martin had wanted to do was make sure Jon stayed safe, but he’d understand being upset by that. He felt his chest begin to clench up.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

Martin should not have been as surprised by this as he was. “Uh- thank you?”

“I don’t think I ever, ah- properly said it.” Jon pushed his glasses further up on his nose. “It was… very kind of you, Martin. I generally don’t like inserting people into that kind of situation, but if it was going to be someone, well-” he paused. “I promise it will  _ not  _ happen again.”

“I really didn’t mind,” Martin chuckled. He wasn’t lying. Martin didn’t mind owning the memory of Jon asleep on his chest in his living room. The mental snapshot of those few minutes worked as a better sleep agent than Benadryl ever could. “It was more important you were- safe.”

The bell for the end of the advisory period rang, a rude interruption to their conversation. Jon sighed and began to pick up the multitudes of index cards. 

“Are you eating lunch in the lounge?” Martin asked. 

Jon glanced at Martin from the side as he leaned over the desks. “I ah- I could.”

“You really are a decisive one, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of my greatest leadership qualities. That and the obvious, unabated courage.”

They shared a small chuckle at that one. Jon managed to sort a whole section of desktop into three piles of color coded index cards. “Are  _ you _ eating lunch in the lounge?”

“If I tell you that I  _ could,  _ are we just going to keep going around again, because I do hate losing my break time to conversation loops,” Martin said. Jon just shook his head with an amused smile. “Yes, Jon, I’m eating in the lounge.”

“Then I am as well.” Jon took a few steps to his own large desk and pulled out a bag from behind, the edge of a tupperware container just peeking out. 

Martin nodded. “Looks like you have quite a bit to do, I’ll meet you there in five minutes?”

Jon smiled. Not a lot, but he was getting better about doing it. They’d eaten lunch together multiple times in recent weeks, talking about either nothing or almost everything, and often a healthy mix of both. There was, of course, debate about economic policy, but they also once spent an entire break arguing about which 90’s snack food truly reigned supreme. (Jon couldn’t bear to accept that Totiono’s pizza rolls had been the most iconic, but they could agree to disagree). 

“Sounds good,” Jon said. 

Martin left with a certain lightness in his step, and not just because he was rid of the heavy book. He’d see Jon in five minutes, and whatever they talked about today, he looked forward to it.

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-3/19-

Georgie clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention. Panting, Agnes put her hands on her knees, her heels aching in character shoes. The cast onstage went silent other than their heavy breathing after the dance number. “Good, good, it’s coming along well,” Georgie said. She glanced down at a notebook. “Right, uh- take five, yeah?”

Drama rehearsals were only more intense now, with the musical being next month. They’d nearly perfected every part of the show they could to the best of their ability, but Georgie always pushed, always wanted better from them, and Agnes appreciated that about her. She didn’t want someone lazy to be running the show. Technically, Amherst directed it, but he was usually in the tech booth. Georgie actually got in on the ground floor- or stage. 

It also didn’t hurt that Georgie and Ms. King were adorable together. After Annabelle’s initial disappointment at being left with even less of a chance with Georgie, even she had to admit that they worked well. It filled Agnes with hope to see two powerful women in a relationship with each other. 

Exhausted, Agnes climbed down into the house and flopped in her usual seat. Standing next to her in the row, Jude downed half of her water bottle. 

“Do you think I can take a nap in four minutes?” Agnes groaned. 

Jude shrugged. “Yeah, if you’re talented.” Jude crouched down and pulled her phone out of her backpack, clicking it on. A few moments later, her face lit up in a way Agnes hadn’t seen many times on her. Enthusiastically shifting her position to sit on the food, Jude clicked at the screen and covered her mouth, her eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Agnes leaned forward. “Jude- what is it?”

Wordlessly, Jude shoved her phone in Agnes’s direction. The screen was lit a bright white and showed an email, one with a long tagline that began with the word  _ Congratulations! _

Agnes squinted to see the bright screen in the dim auditorium. “What is that?”

“I got- I got second place,” Jude said, smiling so big and bright it nearly terrified Agnes. Not because it looked bad on her, she wore the expression fantastically, but it was simply…  _ different.  _

“Second place in..?” All at once, Agnes remembered. “Oh my god! The writing contest, you mean!”

A voice came from behind. “Seems like there’s some excitement here.”

Back from wherever they were, Annabelle and Jane sat down in their usual spots in the row. Jude looked between them and her phone. “I won second place in that writing contest- the Fairchild one.”

Jane almost squealed. “Jude, that’s incredible!”

Even Annabelle had to smile. “That’s fucking rad. Second place? Damn, imagine having talent. Couldn’t be me.”

“Well, there’s another hundred pounds for the GSA fund,” Jude said, pocketing her phone. “Are you guys close to the five hundred you need for this month?”

Agnes quirked her head, confused. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Jude’s gaze flickered between the three perplexed girls. “I thought I told you- in case I won anything, I planned for all my prize money to go to the GSA.”

Agnes sighed. “Jude, you can’t do that, you have to save for uni-”

“It’s just a hundred pounds, that would barely help anyway,” Jude said, waving her hand in dismissal. “But that’s a big chunk of what you need for GSA. I will  _ not  _ let the fucking Board of Education tories ruin your amazing ideas.”

Agnes checked the time on the clock on the wall. “Hey- it’s only 3:30, do you think Banks is still in the building?”

\- - - - -

A quartet of queer excitement, Agnes, Annabelle, Jane, and Jude practically burst their way through the door to Banks’s room. With barely any surprise, Banks looked up from what he worked on at his desk. Agnes suspected he’d come to a form of indifference, perhaps even expectancy about their antics. 

“Funds to report!” Annabelle shouted. 

Banks crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”

Jude opened the email and showed it to him. “Second place, Fairchild writing contest. One hundred pounds, all reserved just for your GSA.”

Nodding, Banks gave them a small smile. “That’s very kind of you, Jude, but I doubt we’ll find the funding we need by the 31st, so I suggest you keep the money for yourself.”

“Well of course we won’t get enough with  _ that  _ attitude,” Agnes laughed. “We can do it, Mr. Banks.”

“...How?”

Even the others turned to look at Agnes, surprised by her confidence in this. “We need five hundred pounds to prove the project should keep being approved, yes? Jude is giving a hundred now. But ACC nationals are on the 31st, and if-  _ when _ \- we win, the first place prize is four hundred pounds. Add that together to make a sweet five hundred.”

“You know I believe in you girls with all my heart,” Banks sighed, “but you can’t guarantee a win. I’d rather Jude not waste her money on something that will remain unfulfilled.”

No. Agnes was not going to let Banks give up on this plan, or give up on the GSA. This was the first year of the club’s existence and they had to make it worth something. If they didn’t, the group would just fizzle out, and all the progress they’d made would be gone. No, Agnes was determined to win and get that money. She’d stop at nothing. 

And so she said that. “Mr. Banks, I will not see this GSA do nothing in its first year. I will do whatever it takes and stop at nothing to win first place this year. We’re talented, we’re smart, we’re lesbians, and all three of those things combine to us being exceptionally talented young women.”

Banks smiled. “I do admire your determination, that much is true.”

Jane nodded at Agnes. “Yeah, uh- what she said. Pretty much.”

“Then we’ll use the hundred. Thank you, Jude, it means a lot.”

It  _ did  _ mean a lot. It was the beginning of their chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my US readers and anyone else with a stake in this election- please stay safe and please stay healthy, both mentally and physically. No matter what, we are still very rad and very groovy. Rock on dudes.  
> Stay Funky and, as always, stay Fresh. Yeehaw


	46. 3/30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am too tired to go very full into celebration mode yet again but biden biden biden biden biden biden biden holy shit we won we did it i have never been happier in my entire life i have cried 5 different times today from sheer happiness and relief

-Agnes Montague-

-3/30-

Surveying the lobby, Agnes made the quite accurate observation that this was _not_ the nicest hotel in the world- but also not the worst. She held a visceral hatred for the ugly carpet that had obviously been installed in the 80’s, and the dingy lighting features weren’t much better than fluorescents. But it had some security and a decent front desk and kind looking staff, so she was fine with it. After all, they’d only be staying one night. 

One night until what arguably could have been called the most important day of her life so far. 

Close beside her, Annabelle held a luggage bag to her side, her hip swayed in one direction as they waited in line. Jack and Michael were stood behind them, Sims just to the front. 

Jack hadn’t given Agnes many issues since the incident in December. Maxwell was taken out of the tech crew, unfortunate considering their small amount of crew, but a necessary step. Sure, Jude was given a week-long suspension, but Georgie seemed to have cleared any remaining issues with Amherst and things had been relatively normal for the three months since. The other cast members would sometimes glance at Jude in fear- but hey, they’d been doing that before anyway. 

Even in their smaller grouping at ACC, in constant contact, Jack learned not to talk to Agnes when unnecessary, out of fear more than anything else. If Jude could pummel big, burly Maxwell, Jack entirely lacked a chance. He didn’t have the audacity to fuck with Annabelle either. Michael generally tried to avoid Jack, but really, couldn’t avoid him. 

That’s why, when Sims turned around and passed the room keys to each of the team members, Annabelle cringed and patted Michael’s shoulder. “Sorry, dude,” she mouthed. Sims had given their obvious room assignments about an hour, Agnes and Annabelle in one and Jack and Michael in another. 

As Agnes previously put it- “Damn, sucks to be Michael.”

Ah, London. The heavily romanticized, realistically dreary capital of England. Oh, London, with your pollution and traffic and ever-expanding crowds of people. Agnes enjoyed her visits there, but with each one became increasingly more glad she didn’t actually _live_ in the city. 

Sims nodded at them, his usual serious self. “I assume you all know I’d rather you not leave the hotel tonight.” Agnes checked her phone- it was just barely past eight. “Remember we meet at 7:30 tomorrow morning here in the lobby, and _please_ go to sleep at a decent time, I can’t have any of you exhausted for tomorrow’s events.” He gave them each an intense look as if driving the point home, waited a moment, and then lightened up a bit.

“Now that _that’s_ out of the way, try to have some- fun. Don’t get too nervous about tomorrow, yes?” The four of them nodded. “Right, ah- to your rooms then. That sounds like I’m trying to ground you or something of that sort, that’s- apologies, anyway. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

With that, they broke off into their three smaller groups, Sims on his own going over to the lifts. Agnes and Annabelle were finally on their own. Climbing the steps seemed an easier choice for just going to the third floor. “Knowing Sims, he’ll probably be asleep by 9:30,” Agnes joked.

Annabelle shrugged. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I feel like the people staying below him would probably call the front desk at two in the morning to complain that the person above them was making noise like _relentless_ pacing.”

For regional Academic Competition champions, it took Agnes and Annabelle a few minutes too long to figure out how to open the door to their hotel room with the weird fancy key cards they’d been given. But once the room was unlocked and the bags were dropped to the floor, the two girls flopped onto their respective beds. 

“It’s 8:30 and I’m exhausted,” Agnes said, her arms and legs starfished out on the comforter. 

Just a couple metres over on the bed closest to the window, Annabelle shifted on her side to look at Agnes. “I genuinely can’t believe I’m considering staying inside the hotel room like Sims asked.”

Chuckling, Agnes laboriously stood from the bed and walked over to the window. She opened the curtains and assessed the view. On the third floor, nothing about it was exactly gorgeous, but it was pleasant nonetheless. Cars drifted by and wind shook the tall tree that rose even higher than their window. 

“Nice view?” Annabelle asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

Agnes nodded. “Yeah, it’s good. Pretty at night.”

Annabelle huffed. “We could… stay in. Or we could go find somewhere to eat. Or we could cause some mischief. Maybe we could find a statue to climb and scream from. Thoughts?”

“ _Or_ ,” Agnes started, walking to her bed and sitting down on it, “we could study for _nationals_ tomorrow.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “That was not one of the options, Agnes, I’d rather do the statue thing.”

“Do you realize how important this is? Not only would it be the first national ACC win for the Magnus Owls since the start of the club, it’s also our only direct way to get enough funding for the bathroom project not to get cut.”

Annabelle sat up on her bed and faced Agnes, the two of them opposed on their respective beds and with their feet nearly touching. She crossed her arms. “You’re no hope to anyone all-” she gestured up and down Agnes’s body- “stressed out like this. You’ve crammed your head full of like, every single science and literature fact possible. One night’s not gonna do shit for you.”

Agnes sighed. “Okay but what if it _does?_ ”

Just then, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Agnes opened it and saw a message from Jude. 

**perryromaniac:** don’t stress yourself out too much. you’ll be great.

Well, perhaps that was a sign. Not that Agnes entirely agreed, but the universe didn’t prioritize agreement. “That was Jude,” Agnes said, “basically telling me the exact same thing you just did.”

Annabelle smiled. “See? Even _Jude_ agrees with me.”

“ _Even_ Jude?”

“Well, she isn’t exactly the master of academics, is she?”

Agnes frowned. “She won second place in that writing contest earlier this month, Annabelle, you know she’s smart. I thought you were like- over all that.”

Annabelle leaned back again, laying with her head on the pillow and staring up at the popcorn ceiling. The room was silent for a moment, other than the rush of cars outside on the street. “You know she isn’t really like you or Jane or I, as much as I vibe with her sometimes. And that’s hard to get over. The three of us have kind of been a thing since freshman year, she’s a lot to get used to, you know?”

“Not everyone has the- the privilege to be amazing at school,” Agnes said. “Granted, I don’t exactly condone her- certain brand of violence- but you do have to admit she’s some kind of badass,” she laughed. 

“That much is true,” Annabelle conceded. “She defended you _and_ read Interview with the Vampire, which is why I tolerate her. Plus she’s kind of funny so that’s a plus.”

Jude _was_ funny. She was a lot of things, really. Funny, intelligent, reckless. Intense. Far too attractive. Perhaps Agnes felt both metaphorically and literally blinded by the burning presence of Jude, but she just couldn’t see how anyone could _not_ want her around. 

“I think she’s coming tomorrow,” Agnes said. “I know Jane is, that’s for certain, but I think Jude mentioned something earlier this week.”

Just to make sure, Agnes texted Jude to confirm she was. Annabelle scoffed. “Like how she nearly forgot and missed the entire competition for regionals?”

Agnes lifted an eyebrow and glared at Annabelle, which shut her right up. 

Suddenly, Annabelle leaned out of her bed and dug around in her bag. She emerged with two brightly colored packages. “I knew you were going to be stressed out, so- look what I brought along.” Agnes almost laughed at the juvenile nature of the two face masks in her hands.

“You brought _face masks_?” Agnes asked, letting out a small laugh. “Oh my god, I feel thirteen at a sleepover again. What are we going to do next, talk about if we think Destiel will ever become canon?”

“Oh, shut up, I’m coming the fuck over.” Annabelle hopped off her own bed and onto Agnes, the mattress bouncing a little from the impact. The two girls laid side by side, inspecting the masks. 

“I like this one,” Agnes said, pointing to the one on the left, something involving avocado or tea or something ‘healing’ and ‘natural.’ This left Annabelle with the charcoal. 

Five minutes later, they were out of the bathroom and sitting on the bed again, each of their faces covered with a considerable amount of drying goop. Feeling her phone in her back pocket, Agnes realized she’d never checked if Jude responded. She opened her messages to one text received:

**perryromaniac:** wouldn’t miss it for the world, my guy, even if it is boring as fuck.

Agnes couldn’t help but let a smile creep onto her face. Annabelle leaned over to get a look at the phone. “Why are you smiling? Is it a boooooy?”

Agnes laughed and punched her shoulder. “ _No,_ those are disgusting, it’s- Jude. You said she’ll come tomorrow.”

Continuing in this roleplay of a thirteen year old girl at a sleepover, Annabelle painted on an overly enthusiastic face. “Ooooooh _Agnes_ do you _like_ her??”

Even knowing this was just a joke in Annabelle’s eyes, Agnes hesitated to answer. “I- no, no of course not, what?”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Christ, Agnes, just a joke, love.”

It was about to be a long (but fun) (but long) night. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-3/30-

Martin would always be able to easily recall the moment Jon called him that night- exactly as he’d finished filling a cup of tea. The steam steadily rose to touch his face as it always did, a small, mint-scented sauna for him to breathe in at the end of a long day. 

Most Friday evenings, he would go to Daisy and Basira’s place to hang out with the ‘teacher gang,’ and half to also hang out with their dog Gun. Tim and a few of the others had been disappointed when Martin declined for this particular Friday, but he felt the need for some alone time. It was only around 9:30, so he still planned to drink some tea, write some poetry, perhaps take a bath. For once in his life he’d take a break from grading papers or writing up more of his curriculum and assignments. 

And so now, he stood at the counter of his flat’s kitchen, bouncing a tea bag up and down just as his phone began to buzz. He let go of the bag and pulled out his phone, his heart skipping a beat upon seeing the contact name.

Martin accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. “Jon?”

“Martin. Hi.”

Martin was surprised by this call. He usually would be, but that especially felt the case tonight, when Jon had gone to London for the ACC nationals. Martin absolutely planned to come watch a few of the events the next day, but didn’t expect to hear from Jon until then. Jon often very much got into his head before this kind of thing. 

When Jon didn’t say anything else, Martin jumped in to fill the void. “So… how are you? You alright?” Despite being on the phone, Martin could fully visualize Jon snapping reality back into focus. 

“Oh, oh! Yes, ah- yes.” Even through the grittiness of cell phones, Martin still smiled at Jon’s voice. He, again, said nothing else to explain.

“It’s great to hear from you, but… why..?”

“Oh, sorry, I- probably should have led with that. I’m alright, I just needed to. Talk to someone, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin said. “Alright. Well, I’m- here, so, you can talk if you need to.”

On the other end of the line, Jon let out something of a sigh. “Tomorrow is… an important day.”

“...Yes?”

“I was just, I don’t know-”

“Feeling stressed?” Martin interrupted, knowing Jon would never say it himself. 

“Yes,” Jon sighed. “That would be it. Not only is this incredibly important for the team, but I very recently found out that the team is planning to use the privacy to fund the GSA project this year. Without a first place win, the project is getting cut.”

“Oh, that does… change things,” Martin said. 

“Exactly! If I’d known _earlier,_ I- well I really don’t know what I could have done differently, but at least I would have _known._ It’s quite a bit to find out on the night before the competition. I just- Martin, I really want them to do well.”

By this point in the call, Martin was sitting down on his sofa, listening with intent. The tea was long forgotten. “They’ll be incredible, Jon.”

“Yes, yes, I know, they’re a talented group of kids. But I’m just- stressed, is all, as you said.”

Martin knew Jon well enough to be aware that more was currently going on in Jon’s assumed hotel room than he let on. He’d probably worn a groove in the floor by now from pacing, or snapped a few hair ties from fidgeting and pulling on them. With barely any thought, Martin shoved his wallet in his pocket and shrugged on a light coat. “Jon, what hotel did you say you were at?”

Despite definitely not having told Martin his hotel before, Jon did so without a question. 

Martin remembered a time just a few months ago when he’d sat at the gate to a cemetery. He’d only thought to text one person, hadn’t even considered anyone else. And then, without even asking, there Jon was, a bouquet of flowers in his hands to lay at the grave of a man he’d never met. Jon did that for him. 

So, the night before a game-changing day for Jon Sims, Martin stopped at a local bakery and picked up some peanut butter cookies. He entered the name of some random hotel in London into his satnav and hopped in the car. It took half an hour, but then Martin was in the lobby and texted Jon for his room number- 406. 

Martin stepped off the lift in the rather dingy hotel, a place likely up to code but not likely to make it on any TripAdvisor top 10 lists. With a warm bag in his hand, Martin knocked on the door to room 406. 

He heard the door being unlatched, and then it opened into a dim room. Jon stood in the doorway with tired eyes and hair pulled into a messy bun. At the sight of Martin, though, he smiled, just enough for it to be noticeable. “Martin, it’s after 10, you-”

Martin stepped inside and cut off his sentence. “Well, I’m here now.” He lifted up his bag of cookies. “And I come bearing gifts?”

Jon cringed. “Martin, that’s- very- kind of you- but I really can’t stomach cookies that aren’t-”

“Savory peanut butter.”

“You, uh, you pay attention,” Jon chuckled.

“I really do try.” Martin shrugged off his coat and put it on the back of a chair, making sure such an action was alright with Jon. He didn’t want to just barge in if Jon felt uncomfortable, but he seemed quite to the contrary, relaxing more every second. 

Soon, they were sat across from each other on the two beds in the hotel room, each with a peanut butter cookie in hand. “How are you feeling, Jon?” Martin asked. 

Jon shrugged. “Ah- marginally better. I do, uh… appreciate this.” He took a bite of the somehow still-warm cookie. “Wow, that- that is good.”

Martin nodded, a smile on his face. “I know, right? There’s this bakery near me that does the most amazing cookies. I am constantly tempted to break into their kitchen in the middle of the night and steal their recipes or something, but that seems like a really dumb way to go to prison.”

“Might be worth it,” Jon said after taking another bite. “Some baked goods are absolutely worth being arrested over.”

“You sound like you’d know from experience,” Martin laughed. “Gotten arrested for the sake of a cake before? Perhaps a milkshake?”

“No, no, not those specifically.”

“Have you-” Instead of continuing this question, Martin decided to drop it, not feeling like having his entire worldview changed in one night. Jon couldn’t have been arrested before. That sounded fake. “So, ah, what was that about funding for the GSA project?”

Jon explained the entire situation, which he’d apparently been told about through Oliver, a fact that Martin didn’t want to think about. He knew Oliver existed, of course, but tried to ignore that part of life as much as possible. 

“They really are good kids, huh,” Martin said. “Putting the money toward that, I mean. I don’t think most teenagers would do that.”

Jon smiled as if thinking of them. “Yes, I- I’m proud of them, I think. To the point where I don’t even mind Michael dating Gerry. Better him than genuinely anyone else.”

Martin would have to leave eventually, but if he could talk Jon out of some of his stress, make him believe in those kids like he did on the inside, that would be good enough. He’d be coming the next day anyway, ready to cheer on the team in all they did (and not over an hour late this time). All the while, cars rushed by from outside, the fast-paced sound of London. Martin always could imagine himself living there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the weird cut off at the end of this chapter, but i started feeling a little sick and didn't want to keep writing shitty things while not feeling good lmao, so i figured cutting it off would just. be better. anyway vibez  
> as always my friends and my people, stay Funky and stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	47. 3/31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gotten the date wrong in the last chapter... honestly it's kind of surprising that's the first time it's happened. the date is fixed now, but this Does take place the day after the last chapter, i don't want any confusion! i guess this is what happens when you upload as you write instead of editing fully through like one would, say, a traditional novel

-Agnes Montague-

-3/31-

There aren’t many things Agnes knew for certain, especially not on this particular Saturday. But she knew two things: winning this was important- for university, for the GSA, for her pride. For Mr. Sims. She couldn’t imagine his disappointment if they got this far just to fail. But even more importantly, her friends were right there to support her. 

Directly next to her sat Annabelle, her gaze narrowed and intense in the dark auditorium. When Annabelle was  _ thinking,  _ truly thinking, it was easy to see the gears turning in her head. Despite her jokes and her rather constant barrage of nonsense, Annabelle had a great mind. 

A few other familiar faces in the audience were there for Agnes as well. She couldn’t see them once the lights went down, but she knew they were there. Somewhere in the middle of the auditorium, Jane and Jude sat next to each other. Before she’d gone onstage, Agnes had even seen Mr. Banks and Mr. Blackwood both in the audience- separate, of course. Agnes had only seen them talk once, at the PanoptiCoffee GSA fundraiser. Their discussion looked rather… tense. 

She couldn’t think about any of that, though, because the announcer was introducing another question. 

“Toss up question for ten points,” the woman behind the podium said. She looked professional, wearing a pencil skirt and blazer, her hair in a tight bun that almost reached Nurse Gertrude levels of precision. “Mathematics.” So Agnes would likely  _ not  _ be answering this question. For math problems, the team almost always looked to Michael. 

“A math class has 40 students enrolled. The average on their final exam is 70. The 4 lowest scores were 12, 24, 26, and 38. What is the average of the other 36 students? A- 65. B- 70. C- 75. D- 78. E- 80.” Each member of both teams onstage rapidly wrote the question down on their paper, and despite Michael’s quick work, the other team buzzed first. 

The announcer nodded to a boy on the other team, a group of students from some private school up in Cumbria. Every year it seemed like some private school won nationals- public schools could never get an in on the competition. The Magnus Owls were one of the only two public schools left in the entire day’s events, just another reason they needed to win. 

“C- 75.”

“That is correct.”

Another ten points were added to the Cumbria team. They had a thirty point lead. This was the last event of the day. 

Magnus had made it to the very end, the very final round. Sure, they’d get second place if they lost this round, but second place meant nothing to Agnes. Second place wouldn’t fund the bathrooms, second place wouldn’t pave her way to Oxford. 

The announcer asked something else- something about a novel. This was Agnes’s specialty. She readied herself to hit the buzzer when she, inevitably, knew the answer. But the words left the announcer’s mouth and didn’t access any of her carefully filed away memories. She didn’t even recognize the name of the novel. The rest of the team looked at her expectantly, but she just cringed when a girl on the other team hit her buzzer. 

Forty points. 

How many questions were left?

Not enough. 

Out of the next five questions the announcer threw at them- the Owls knew  _ one.  _ With every answer given by the Cumbria team, Agnes felt a sinking dread. Next to her, she could feel Annabelle tense up, coiled like a snake, a spider dangling on its own web. She couldn’t sense the feelings of her other team members, considering they were separated by Annabelle, but she still knew they were all feeling the way she did. 

And in the audience, Jude was watching. 

When the announcer said the words “final question,” reality hit Agnes like a stinging bullet. The other team had landed themselves a seventy point lead. They couldn’t come back from that in a single question. Before the round was technically over, it was over- confirmed by the smug look on the faces of the Cumbria kids. 

Agnes pasted on a smile as she shook the hands of the other team, uttering meaningless phrases like “good game!” or “congratulations.” Those damn private school kids with their blazers and ties shook hands back, one even going so far as to say  _ well, second place is great as well.  _

Agnes was  _ better  _ than runner-up. She did more than ‘almost.’ She was top of the class, poised to be valedictorian in senior year. She knew she could’ve been proud, and that second place in the entire country was fantastic, but damn if that was good enough for her. 

Almost in a daze, Agnes floated down into the audience, the house now brightened under violently yellow lights. 

Someone hugged her- Jane. The other girl leaned into Agnes with her long black hair smelling nice and a bit like dirt, and spoke next to her ear. “You guys were amazing today.”

Numbly, Agnes said some sort of thank you. She looked around to try and find the face she really dreaded seeing. Mr. Sims. 

And there he was, a few metres away, talking to Mr. Blackwood. Agnes caught his eye and Sims came over to their small group, where all four Owls, Jane, and Jude had congregated. Agnes spotted Gerry walking down an aisle in the auditorium as well, as he’d apparently attended the competition too. 

Agnes looked at the short, tired teacher before her. “Sorry, Mr. Sims.”

With dejected tones, the rest of the team repeated the same sentiment. Fuck, the project would get cut. They’d be picking up the pieces of themselves for the rest of the school year to hopefully try again the next, both in the GSA and ACC. This had been their very last effort- the final resort to getting the needed money for the Board. Agnes had been convinced they’d win. But they didn’t. 

“We should’ve trained harder,” Agnes said, with almost a resigned laugh at the end- but not quite. “I know we could’ve done better. I’m sorry we disappointed you, Mr. Sims.”

Mr. Sims shook his head, a shadow of a smile on his face. Behind him, Mr. Blackwood looked at Sims with an expression Agnes couldn’t entirely figure out, a mix of appreciative and fond emotions that ran deep. “You didn’t disappoint me, Agnes. None of you did.”

They waited for him to continue. Sims was stern, always serious in their practices except for the moments of unexpected sarcasm or joking, which always came as a major tone shift. He’d been drilling them incredibly hard for weeks, pounding knowledge into them. She’d expected frustrated, disappointment masked as indifference, perhaps even a stern reprimanding. But he spoke warmly, kindly. 

“Yes, I- would have liked for you to have won. That would have been preferable. But I am… proud of you all still. It took a lot of work for us to get here, and you did well- second place in all of England isn’t exactly a  _ horrible  _ position. I’m not disappointed. It sounds rather cliche, but it  _ was  _ more important for you all to have this experience than to win first position.”

Agnes breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know what to do about GSA, or about her application for Oxford the next year, but at least Sims wasn’t upset. That meant more to Agnes than she could’ve known. 

Someone else in the group responded to Sims- Agnes didn’t pay much attention. She took a moment to sit down in an empty seat in the first row, desperately attempting to process. 

She watched Sims and Blackwood talk again, Blackwood’s face soft and empathetic. He didn’t reach a hand out to Sims, but Agnes could tell he twitched to do so. They were good together. Agnes didn’t see the two interact much, but considering how they acted when she was in their classes, Agnes could envision them as a good fit. 

Annabelle sat down next to Agnes and laid her head on Agnes’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking tired,” she said. “Can I take a nap here?”

Leave it to Annabelle to think solely of sleeping when they just lost nationals. It did make Agnes chuckle, though. “I don’t think that’s the best plan."

Jude stood in front of them now too. She shoved her hands in the pockets of dark jeans. “That was really good. All the events leading up to the last round, I mean.” She laughed a little. “That last one didn’t go too well.”

Only  _ they  _ could make Agnes laugh when she was feeling this shitty. “Damn, Jude, you’re so observant,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Thanks for the input.”

Jude smiled. “Anytime. What do you say we get the fuck out of here as soon as possible and go see a movie?”

Annabelle raised an eyebrow. “Legally?”

“Dear god, of course not.”

From across the auditorium, Agnes watched Mr. Banks walk closer and closer to their group at the front. Other people were starting to file out of the house, but Banks wove through the crowd with a peculiar expression on her face. Agnes tilted her head in his direction, informing the others of his approach. 

Banks sidestepped Sims almost completely, barely making eye contact. He paused, slightly breathless from the hurried walking. He clutched his one in one hand. “GSA kids?”

Gerry and Michael both came closer- Gerry had come to see his boyfriend compete, and, of course, o support Mr. Sims. The two of them stood beside Jane and Jude, Jude’s leg brushing against Agnes where she sat next to Annabelle. The contact almost made Agnes shift from surprise, but she held still. Banks clicked something open on his phone.

His voice was shaky. “I uh- I just got an email, folks.”

They listened intently. Agnes wondered where this could possibly go. 

“We just received a donation.”

The group turned silent. Sims and Blackwood were both listening in now as well, giving each other small looks that only the two of them could probably understand- Agnes recognized the coded flickering of eyes from looking across the room at Annabelle many times. 

“A donation of how much?” Gerry asked. 

Michael frowned in thought. “And from who?” 

Mr. Banks let out an unstable breath. “A donation of three thousand pounds- from an anonymous donor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn jon must be exhausted from me making him speedrun five years of development in canon into less than a full year in this fic but like my man does wear it well. we haven't gotten to s5 stages of emotional clarity and appreciation for martin yet though but i can't wait to write him when he Does.  
> as always, thank you all so much for reading!! y'all are lovely and always make my day.   
> so stay Funky, and ohhhhh stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	48. 4/06-13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hellooo there are two abandoned warehouses next to my apartment building and there have been lights flickering all over the place for the last two hours now and it's very concerning To Me, jonny sims sir what entity decided to annoy the absolute fuck out of me tonight  
> anyway enjoy the chapta luvs

-Martin Blackwood-

-4/6-

Martin had learned to feel safe in Daisy and Basira’s living room. With the fire going, their group sat around on cushioned sofas and chairs with glasses of wine in hand, the atmosphere warm and comfortable. He’d relax into their shared laughs and smiles and, largely an audience member of their conversation, observe them. Sometime Martin would jump in to say something, of course, he’d become less and less anxious to. 

At some point, nearly every Friday night at the house (which edged on being a communal space), it became normal for Jon and Martin to sit together on the sofa. Martin didn’t know when this started exactly, perhaps late February or early March- there’d been a day when the two stopped their hesitant skirting and just, finally, fucking sat down beside one another. 

Martin swirled the crimson wine around in his glass as he leaned back further into the couch. Around the room, all his friends just looked so… _grown up._ Daisy and Basira sat next to each other with wedding rings around their fingers. Just minutes before, Tim and Sasha had been discussing possible plans to move in with one another with the group. They spoke about work and students and lesson plans and sipped wine together, all in a room with a real fireplace and mantel. Gun, their dog, sat before the flames and shifted every once in a while with a content sigh. 

They were, all of them, so adult. Real, functioning adults with responsibilities and jobs and homes. Martin felt strangely behind- he lived in a flat with no partner, not even a cat, just a few houseplants. 

There was a lull in the conversation. Still learning to voice his thoughts when they came, Martin decided to take the opportunity to talk. “Christ, we all seem so… _adult_ ,” Martin said, looking around the room once more. Georgie and Melanie had dragged up two chairs from the dining room table and sat, curled together. Sasha sat in a large armchair with Tim perched on the side. “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

Georgie nodded. “Oh yeah, for sure. Most days I feel like three toddlers all stacked in a trench coat, trying to pass off as some sort of grown up.”

“You’re too short to be three stacked toddlers,” Melanie laughed, and received a joking punch to the arm from her girlfriend. 

After a few more comments from the group, they settled back in and Tim looked into the distance thoughtfully (he really didn’t do things _thoughtfully_ too often). “It seems we all want to connect with our- inner child a bit more?”

There were a few nods from the group, albeit hesitant ones. They were all a bit worried about what Tim could possibly be about to inform them of, as one learned to be after interacting with him for a while. Tim drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. “There’s a travelling funfair coming through town in two weeks or so.”

That hadn’t been what anyone expected. Basira furrowed her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes,” Tim sighed. “None of you know what’s going on around here! You should join the district Facebook group.”

Sasha full-on snorted at this, covering her mouth with her hand and doubling over in her chair. She recovered and looked at Tim. “You- the district Facebook group?”

The rest of them started laughing as well, and Tim’s face went a bit red. “It’s- it’s useful! I can know when the- oh, nevermind,” he chuckled. “Fuck all of you.”

After wiping a tear from his eye, Martin nodded. “That sounds fun, actually. I don’t think I’d mind.”

From across their circle, Georgie gave Jon a wink. “And if the carousel is good, I’m sure Jon would _love_ to come.”

Martin glanced to the side just in time to see Jon send back a glare to his friend. Something in his eyes communicated a mixture of murderer tendencies and highly annoyed cat. Martin had to stifle a laugh, and Tim, likely eager to turn the teasing away from himself, raised an eyebrow. “ _Oh?_ Care to speak on this, my dear Jonny?”

Jon pressed two fingers to his temple, shaking his head in amusement. He looked tired, as per usual, but not sad. It was reassuring to Martin. “It was just the _one,_ Georgie.”

Daisy couldn’t help but love this too. “Oh, Jonathan? Just the one? Do tell, would you?”

Jon sighed. “Back when Georgie and I were together in uni-” (Melanie scrunched up her nose at this, as if disturbed by the very thought)- “there was this old carousel right off the campus, and it went quite quickly. I found it rather… thrilling.”

The relentless teasing that followed this was exactly how one would expect it to be, and mostly done by Daisy. Martin himself laughed too, but it was in these moments he had to restrain himself from loving Jon too much, the way he pouted and crossed his arms but his lips twitched up into a smile. 

Most of the time, Martin was okay with it, but sometimes he despised that he couldn’t just kiss Jon.

\- - - - -

Another Friday night over, Martin pulled on his light coat and Tim gave him into a bro-ish hug, his crooked smile white and glinting even in the dim room. They separated and Tim attempted to dab Martin up. It didn’t go very well and ended with them both laughing, Martin waving his good bye and Tim and Sasha stepped out of the house together. 

Martin looked back into the living room, where Jon stood with his coat on but talking to Daisy. He made a small hand gesture to get his attention. “You leaving, Jon?”

At some point they started leaving at the same time, too. He had no idea when that had started happening. They didn’t drive home together or anything, just walked out of the house at the same time and to their cars down the street. 

Jon nodded back to him, which meant it would only be a moment or two before he finished up. Martin’s interpretation was correct; just a minute later, Jon said goodbye to Daisy and went to the door, which Martin held open for him. “Bye Daisy! Bye Basira! Thanks as always!” he called back, and then they were out of the house and into the chilly air of early April.

They were fast approaching Martin’s favorite time of year. The season when everything thawed and life began again, a rebirth, if you will. He liked spring. He liked the flowers and the constant tremble of rain in the air and the wind that always threatened to be cold but couldn’t quite deliver. It was a season that felt like the start of new things for him, the perfect months for beginnings. 

In the dark, Jon and Martin walked on the pavement, their footsteps the only immediate sound in the quiet suburb. They passed a budding tree, its mostly bare branches dotted with bubbles of pink and white. “So,” Martin said. “I haven’t talked to you much this week- how, uh, how are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, watching his feet. 

Martin sighed. “Well, the kids did well at nationals, but… well, you know. I remember you were a bit stressed before the competition? Especially with the whole GSA part of it as well.”

They passed their cars. This did happen, rarely; they’d end up circling around the block once without even deciding it, if the conversation seemed to be headed in that direction. Martin didn’t mind. Every week the weather got nicer, every week he needed a jacket a little less. 

“I’m- disappointed,” Jon said. “Not in the _team,_ of course, but- in general. Oliver did tell me, though, the GSA found the funds they needed even without the prize money from ACC.”

Deciding to ignore the casual mention of Oliver, after all, it didn’t _really_ concern him anyway, Martin frowned in confusion. “How, exactly? Don’t- don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they did, but- wasn’t it their last day to collect the funds?”

Jon pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. He really needed to get those tightened or something, perhaps even replaced, as Martin often noticed an old edge snagged on his long hair. These were the _things_ he observed, the most minute and inconsequential of details. “An anonymous donor, actually. Three thousand pounds. They have no idea who donated it.”

“That _would_ be the meaning of anonymous!”

Jon rolled his eyes a little. “Yes, Martin, I know you’re an English major.”

The two of them laughed for a brief moment, the sound brightening the empty and windy night air. 

“It was really nice, what you said to the kids,” Martin said, after a beat of silence. “They needed that from you, I think. Not many teachers are- are good at that kind of thing. What does the club do now that the competition season is over?”

Jon shrugged. “We go back to once a week meeting times, they need to stay in practice, but it’s- well, it’s far less _intense,_ so to speak.” He sighed, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers. “They’re taking it- well, actually. Agnes, of course, seems to feel the worst, and Michael is rather unbothered.”

Martin shook his head. “Michael _is_ a strange one, isn’t he? Smart, but- strange. He’s ah, still dating Gerry, yeah?”

“Yes, he is,” Jon said, and he smiled. Seeing Gerry happy always seemed to make Jon happy, like their consciousnesses fed into one another. He rarely saw one upset and the other doing well. “Six months in a few weeks, actually. They keep trying to set me up as well, I think,” Jon chuckled. 

“ _Really_?”

“Oh, yes; the two of them have somehow come up with this belief that I need some new romance in life. It’s ridiculous, really, but I do appreciate their- efforts- even if it isn’t their place.”

“That is absolutely hilarious,” Martin said. “What exactly have they tried?”

Jon grimaced. “Let’s just say- quite a few things.”

Martin may have inquired further, but then they were in front of their cars again, having walked around the entire block together. Jon stopped and tightened his scarf around his neck, looking off at something in the distance that Martin couldn’t see. He took the moment to look at Jon and smile, a picture he could have in his mind of them in the early spring darkness, Jon bundled in far too much clothing for the light chill. His dark hair tinged with gray spilled out over the scarf and he pulled his long coat in tighter. 

“Well, I guess that’s goodnight,” Martin said. He fished for his car keys in his pocket and clicked open the door. 

Jon pressed his lips together. “PanoptiCoffee tomorrow?”

Martin nodded. “Of course, Jon.”

A few minutes later, an exhausted Martin sat down in his car and turned on the ignition, the rumbling sound of the old engine almost startling in the quiet night. He thought back to what Tim had said about the carnival. Two weeks wasn’t long to wait. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-4/13-

More than anything, Agnes loved opening nights. Life was _different_ on an opening night. The air they breathed changed, filled with excitement and anticipation and hairspray, and every light felt like a spotlight, every word spoken just a preamble to their lines. It filled her with something not quite but akin to pure joy, a certain combination of emotions that resulted in hours of adrenaline. 

On an opening night, there were no precedents. Anything could go wrong and everything could go right. No matter how many times you rehearse, something is different in the actual show, something will happen that will be unexpected and perhaps even frightening at the time. Nothing was insured on an opening night. Agnes usually liked control, she liked to _know_ things, but that untameable beast within her always wanted some sense of anarchy in her life. Opening night was the perfect mix of it all; rehearsed for and perfected, and yet, uncontrollable and wild. 

Tonight, the Magnus Memorial High School Drama Club will be opening this year's show, The Addams Family. Did Agnes, a voracious horror reader and lover of all things cosmically spooky, find the premise a bit hokey? Well, yes. But would she also immensely enjoy the performance? Absolutely. 

Beyond the curtains, an audience filtered in through the doors. They settled into their seats and read through the program, sneaking in a snack or two, perhaps chatting to family and friends while the lights were still up. 

But behind the wings and into the dressing room, Agnes sat in front of a mirror and rubbed her lips together to even out her lipstick. Around her, the rest of the cast did similar, pulling on costumes or fixing their hair. The crew was beginning to stick mics on people.

Jude applied foundation a shade too light for her face in the seat next to Agnes’s, giving her the ghostly effect the director wanted for the ensemble. In that moment, Agnes remembered the first day of drama that year. She remembered Michael without a Gerry, walking into the auditorium with his sequined bag and mesmerizing smile. At that point, the Spooky Lesbians had been a trio, not yet evolving into a quartet. 

And then Jude, Jude with her choppy black hair and fiery eyes and devious smile. Jude flung open the doors to that very same auditorium they were in now and sat down as if she owned the place, all eyes on her. 

Agnes hadn’t ever asked Jude exactly _why_ she’d walked into the drama meeting that afternoon. She worked hard at it, but she didn’t seem to truly enjoy it. She’d had no friends there (before she became part of their group, at least). In all honesty, her singing voice left something to be desired as well. 

But Agnes wouldn’t ask that. She wasn’t sure why; maybe some illusion would be shattered, or maybe the reason would be something she didn’t like. And so, Agnes figured, she didn’t need to know right then. All in its due time.

With a mischievous smile, Jude lifted up her script. “Hey Agnes, want to help me run my lines one last time?”

Agnes took the script out of her hand and placed it on the table in front of them. “You have a singular line, Jude; you shout the word _No!_ with the rest of the ensemble in scene three of act two. Remember now?”

Jude crossed her arms. “Seems someone is anxious.”

Agnes shrugged. “I believe myself to be the exact right amount of nervous for the opening night of a show we’ve been working on for months now.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Jude- have you ever performed before?”

Jude opened her mouth, closed it for a moment, and then took a second try. “No- no, not really.”

“Okay, you definitely hesitated,” Agnes chuckled. “Come on, what was it? Disastrous second grade talent show? Dance recital at the tender age of six years old? Perhaps a particularly difficult piano concerto that traumatized you forever?”

Jude mumbled something, which only amused Agnes even more. “What was that, Jude? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

Jude sighed. “Children’s church choir.”

Agnes stifled a laugh. “That’s- oh, nothing- nothing to be ashamed of, really,” she said, but obviously this wasn’t fully true as she struggled not to laugh between her words. “No, no, really, plenty of kids do that.”

“I was in seventh grade,” Jude muttered. 

Agnes for sure would’ve gone on about this for quite a while more, but a show circle was called by Georgie, and Agnes fell into place beside Jude and Annabelle. She could hear the band kids warming up their instruments in the pit. 

Sometimes, the circle was a place for warming up or for a quick, classic theatre game to pull them all together, but Georgie obviously wasn’t in the mood for that. She motioned for everyone to grab each other’s hands, and they did. 

In her left hand, Agnes felt the distinct sharpness of Annabelle’s long acrylic nails, black and shining. They were familiar, a sensation Agnes had felt on her skin many times. Annabelle wouldn’t seem entirely like Annabelle without them. 

Jude’s hand grasped at Agnes’s on the right side. Jude’s nails were short and cleanly cut but still dug slightly into the back of Agnes’s hand, a symptom of nerves, nerves that didn’t outright show anywhere else on her body. In a show of support, Agnes squeezed Jude’s hand. The connection felt electric and warm, amplified by the tangible excitement in the air around them. 

Georgie held Michael’s hand on one side and Julia’s on the other. She took a deep breath, and the rest of the cast did so with her as well, all one breath in and out together. Georgie smiled at them. “It has been a pleasure working with you all since November, and I hope to do it again. All of you-” she glanced at Jude- “and I mean _all_ of you, are incredible students and incredible people. I know you’ll be amazing tonight.”

Georgie said a few more things, but once she wiped away the first tear they devolved more and more until the entire group was laughing a bit and making fun of her for it. After a moment, they composed themselves, grounded again in the moment. Georgie smiled. “I believe it’s time for me to say ‘places.”

And that it was. 

In the wings, Agnes stood with steadfast determination beside Annabelle and Jane, looking out onto the stage. Slowly, crew pulled the curtains back, and they squeaked and dragged across the ground as the orchestra began to build the overture. 

Agnes felt herself invigorated, ready. She didn’t know if her mum had come, or planned to, but that was okay. Her friends were around her, Gerry and Nurse Gertrude were there in the audience, the people she loved and teachers who supported her had turned up and that was enough. More than enough for her. 

Briefly, she remembered ACC, just a week before. She remembered her failure, which she’d pushed away just for the night. It flooded her memory as the stage lights flooded her sight, a total takeover. But for one performance, she could forget it. For one performance at least, she could keep the guilt of a missed opportunity at bay. 

When Agnes stepped onto stage, she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain is so focused on this fic all the time that i've started writing the dates of stuff for schoolwork from the month it is in this fic without even realizing it like i almost submitted an essay with the date for March on it but i'm... going to call that normal?  
> also!! i have a very exciting announcement that i think i'll make in the next chapter. it's something i've been holding onto for a while now, but i think it's about time to let you guys know!  
> -anyway, as always my friends, stay Funky and absolutely stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	49. 4/15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! enjoy the chapter, and make sure to read the notes for an important announcement <3

-Agnes Montague-

-4/15-

Agnes let the applause and the lights wash over her. The exhaustion in her bones and her throat faded to the background whenever she heard clapping, whenever a show finally came to its bittersweet end. Maybe she hadn’t had the biggest part in this musical, not lead like in past performances, but she didn’t mind this. Annabelle and Jane got the spotlight this year, and that was more than okay for Agnes. Yes, she wanted a good part, but the happiness of her friends remained just as important. 

With a bow, Agnes looked out into the audience again, their faces washed out by the comforting darkness that always blanketed the house. She was hot under the lights, hot in her costume, sweaty from dancing. There was no way in hell her foundation wasn’t dripping. And yet, nowhere else could’ve made her happier. The final bows of a performance- the show wasn’t over really, just delayed for a moment, but she could breathe again. 

Her hands clasped with another member of the cast, Agnes straightened her body again and smiled into the audience one last time as the curtain lowered. The moment it hit the stage, the cast collectively let out a sigh of relief and let go of each others’ hands. 

And then there was the run to her friends, as always. Agnes threw her arms around Annabelle. “You were incredible!”

Annabelle squeezed her back, the long black dress she wore slightly itching Agnes’s arms from the lace. She really had made a good Morticia. “You too, love,” she said, and then they had to let go, because Agnes went in to do the same to Jane. 

“This school literally couldn’t have asked for a better Wednesday Addams.” Agnes pulled Jane in close like she always did after a performance, and after her standard moment of stiff hesitation, Jane relaxed into the embrace. 

“You were amazing too, Agnes,” she said, a smile audible in her voice. 

And then, of course, there was Jude. There was always Jude. Agnes leaned a bit closer to her, almost instinctively wanting to kiss her, the joy of the moment taking away some of her usual self-control, but she quickly returned to herself and leaned away. They looked at each other with stilted, awkward expressions. “You were- you did great as well, Jude,” Agne said. 

Jude breathed sharply out of her nose, something close to a chuckle. “Wouldn’t have done as well as I did if you hadn’t ran lines with me before the show. You know, that one I had in act two and such.”

“I’m always glad to be of service,” Agnes laughed. 

Back in the dressing room, Agnes surveyed the table she’d laid all her makeup and supplies haphazardly out on, small additions to her costume thrown about the surface as she’d quickly changed during the show. She always looked at these spaces with a certain fondness; remains of the stress and adrenaline and pure happiness she’d experienced just a short while before. 

At the table next to Agnes’s, Julia stuffed her own things into a bag and worked hard at scrubbing makeup off her face. She’d played Grandma Addams, and while her age makeup had been rather decent, wrinkles were a hell of a job to wipe off. Agnes reached across her table to grab a lipstick. “Cast party is at your’s this year, yeah?”

Julia nodded. “Yeah, nine o’clock.  _ No  _ booze.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

\- - - - - 

Almost as important as the performances themselves, the cast party was a yearly tradition for the Magnus Memorial drama club. Someone different held it at their house every year, and everyone in the cast who could would come and subject themselves to a night of fun and, yes, very slight terror. There was one rule to always be followed: what happens at the cast party  _ stays  _ at the cast party. 

Still giddily exhausted from a weekend of performances, about fifteen high schoolers sat around Julia’s living room at differing intervals; some on couches or seats, some caring enough to put pillows down on the floor, others- like Agnes- cross legged on the carpet. 

Agnes had only been in this room once before, the night of the Halloween party. How long ago that had seemed; the way she’d tiptoed around Jude, the way seeing Michael and Gerry kiss was scandalous and new, not something they quickly did when they said goodbye after school. Honestly, she didn’t miss it. 

Now, the house was much easier to see. A respectably sized TV, a long sectional (great for entertaining), a few soft chairs placed around the coffee table. Beneath it, the rug was faded and matted down but clean. Agnes relaxed her head against the arm of the sofa she sat in front of, Annabelle on her one side and Jane beside Annabelle. Jude was a couple people away, but never hesitated to send Agnes an amused look whenever someone said something idiotic. 

Julia sat with one leg up in an armchair, a serious expression on her face. “Ground rules, kids; Trevor is in the house and has  _ very  _ graciously allowed me to host this party, so- no drinks, no extreme shenanigans, yeah?”

Mike Crew lifted an eyebrow from across the circle. “You’d think she was a teacher, not a senior!”

The group laughed, but they knew they’d all comply with these rules. Well, mostly. Agnes knew for a fact that Annabelle had a small flask hidden in a pocket of her jacket- in Annabelle’s words, “you know, in case it gets a little dry in there.”

Maybe no alcohol was allowed, but at least there was a wide array of party snack food on the coffee table, chips and dips and pretzels and popcorn, cheese balls and tiny bite-sized brownies. No one had touched any yet- sometimes, such snacks ended up just as atmospheric decoration, giving the space a classic ‘party’ feel. 

Sarah Baldwin spoke from her spot on the sofa, one of her legs overlapping on Manuela’s. “Unless you’re a freshman, we all know the cast party tradition, right? Truth or dare, and whatever happens at the cast party-”

Almost everyone in the circle joined in with her- “ _ Stays  _ at the cast party.” Sarah nodded and relaxed onto the back of the sofa. 

They started off with Michael asking the question or giving the dare. He picked Annabelle first, who, in a change from her usual choice, went for truth. 

Michael thought for a moment. “Do you believe in ghosts, Annabelle?”

Annabelle shrugged. “I mean, not  _ really.  _ If the supernatural exists, it’s gotta be a lot worse than just ghosts, right? That’d be boring as fuck,” she chuckled. 

A couple rounds passed of mildly amusing dares. The best of which was when Michael took dare, and he’d had to give Natalie Ennis his phone and let her text any of his contacts- of which she chose Gerry, and then proceeded to text that she thought Mr. Sims was hot into the messages. Needless to say, that would take some explanation later. Agnes couldn’t imagine the sheer embarrassment of having someone text your boyfriend that they thought the person who was essentially his  _ dad  _ was hot. 

Mike asked Julia what her body count was, a question that somehow prompted a question from her- “what kind of body count?” (Agnes didn’t want to think about what Julia may have been referring to. Either way, the count was 3). 

When it was Agnes’s turn to ask a question or give a dare, like usual, Jane chose truth. Unable to think of anything better, Agnes asked her question. “Have you ever kept a library book?”

Everyone in the group except Jane erupted into laughter. In a setting where most of the questions ended up bordering on illegal, library books weren’t considered too scandalous. But when the teasing died down and Jane answered, she’d very shamefully said she had. 

Quite a few more things happened- Carlos Vittery was made to play a ukulele with his teeth, Sarah had taken a few minutes to eat an entire piece of paper. Annabelle ended up being dared to very briefly make out with Diego Molina, a dare made all the more hilarious because of the fact they were both gay  _ and  _ had been casted as husband in wife in the musical they’d just finished. 

And then, it was Carlos’s turn to ask the truth or dare. He chose Jude, who, unlike Agnes had expected, selected truth. 

Carlos thought for a moment. “If you’re going to j-prom next month, who are you going with?”

Ah, yes; Junior Prom, an event Agnes had entirely forgotten about up until that point. After all, she’d had much more important things to worry about, ACC and the musical and GSA and her grades. The subject entirely slipped her mind in the last few months, but she remembered discussing it with Jane and Annabelle in their previous years of high school. 

Jude pressed her lips together and stared at Carlos. “Agnes.”

Agnes’s eyes widened. She knew they hadn’t discussed that, and even now Jude didn’t even look in Agnes’s direction, her muscular arms crossed in strange confidence. 

Beside her, Annabelle turned to Agnes. “You didn’t tell me the two of you were going together!” she hissed. 

Agnes looked between Annabelle and Jude, almost frantic. “Well I wasn’t exactly aware either,” she whispered back. 

Jude could’ve just said that to easily get through the question. Really, Agnes was unable to think of any other reason. Her mouth dried quickly, her heart pounded in her chest. 

Someone asked Agnes for truth or dare, but she didn’t even process the question. Slightly unsteady, she stood up from the floor. “I- I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. 

And then she was fleeing the living room, her footsteps loud on the floor of the hallway to the bathroom. Ducking in and then closing the door, she stood in front of the mirror. 

Agnes had to ground herself. This- it wasn’t as big a deal as she felt it to be, was it? She threaded her fingers through her long red hair, staring in the mirror at the freckles she knew so well that dotted her cheeks and nose. She breathed out heavily, and then back in again, hands placed on either side of the sink. 

The exact amount of time that passed with her inside that bathroom would always be a mystery to Agnes, but when she finally felt calm enough to open the door again, she nearly opened it into Jude’s face.

Agnes sprung back. “Ah- Jude! Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jude said. Her arms were crossed again, but not in an aggressive way- it almost looked like a defense, a shield. 

They were far enough from the group that they hopefully wouldn’t be heard. Agnes closed the bathroom door and leaned up against it, the two girls staring at each other in a dark hallway. “So. J-prom.”

Jude bit her lower lip. “Yeah- j-prom.”

Agnes smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be into that kind of thing.”

“It feels important,” Jude shrugged. “I just figured there wasn’t much reason for both of us to go alone. May as well say we’re going together, yeah?”

Oh. So it was more  _ why not  _ than enthusiasm. For a moment, just a single moment, Agnes had believed this to be something more than what it was. But, of course, she could be content with this. For a night, Jude would be hers. Even just as friends, that was better than as nothing at all. 

Agnes nodded. “Yeah, sure, we can- we can go together. I think that’s… good.”

If Agnes didn’t know any better, it looked like there was a small smile on Jude’s face. 

When the two of them made it back to the group, there’d been some teasing, which she’d expected. One can’t just ‘go to the bathroom’ with their j-prom date at a party and not expect to be mercilessly made fun of and interrogated. But, surprisingly, the one person who didn’t take part in the fun at their expense was Annabelle. 

When Agnes took her position next to Annabelle again, Annabelle was visibly upset. A sinking feeling settled into Agnes’s chest.

\- - - - - 

As Agnes’s tired feet pounded into the pavement, she found herself glad the weather was warming up lately. Now into mid-April, spring had opened its eyes- all around them, trees budded and some even began to flower. The world fell into darkness hours earlier and was pitch black by eleven, when Agnes walked home from the party, but she could still smell the earthy scent of rain and new growth in the air. 

Beside Agnes, Annabelle stared at her shoes as they walked, the two of them alone in the street. All the Spooky Lesbians had started off their walk home together, but Jude and Jane both peeled off from the group earlier on to get home. Now it just left the two of them, and Annabelle hadn’t said a single word since they’d left. 

Agnes nervously glanced at Annabelle. “Are- are you okay?” Annabelle didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Annabelle?”

Annabelle sighed. “No, Agnes, not really.”

“Oh.” She took a few more steps. “Um- why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because for over two years now, you and Jane and I all promised to go to our junior prom and prom together? So none of us will have to worry about dates or anything and so we can all have a fun night  _ together _ ? Or maybe you just forgot that.”

Agnes took a long exhale. In her forgetfulness about the event as a whole, she’d definitely forgotten-  _ that.  _ “Oh, Annabelle, I’m… I’m sorry.”

Annabelle shook her head. “It’s silly anyway, I guess, but I’d always counted on that.”

“I’m sure there are like, dozens of girls in our school who would be so fucking overjoyed to go to j-prom with you,” Agnes said. 

Annabelle started to say something- “yeah, but-” but then she stopped herself. They were standing on the pavement in front of Agnes’s building. “Maybe. Yeah.”

She wished for more time to resolve this, but Agnes was exhausted and her brain could barely function. It had been a long weekend of performing, and she still would have to wake up for school the next morning. The two of them stared at each other, eyes bright in the darkness. 

“I  _ am  _ sorry, Annabelle.”

Annabelle nodded. “Yeah, I know you are.”

A few minutes later, once inside the dim comfort of her flat, Agnes wondered if she’d made the right choice that evening- if there had even been a choice at all. But she  _ liked  _ Jude, almost too much. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in years, perhaps not ever. Maybe, hopefully, Annabelle could understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hello!  
> So, announcement time. This is something I've known about and planned for since the day I wrote chapter one of this fic, but I've held off on informing the general public until I could be sure I'd be able to finish this fic- and considering I'm about 80 percent through this, I'm certain enough in my capabilities to finish that I think this is valid to say. 
> 
> Here it is: there's going to be a sequel to this fic. The Magnus Memorial storyline does not end in this first fic. It will continue on into Magnus Memorial: Senior Year (or MMSY, as I often abbreviate it in my notes). 
> 
> I know it's just a little ridiculous to write a sequel to a story that's already 170k or so, but I have so many ideas and they need to be written! Think about it this way: MM is about developing relationships, and MMSY will be about testing those relationships, seeing their highs and lows. I think it will be just as, if not more interesting than the first, and it's a project I am really excited to embark on. 
> 
> I hope you all decide to carry on into reading the sequel fic, although you by no means have to. I'll be giving you more information on how I'm formatting this as a series and some bonus content that I'll be releasing in the intermission between the two fics, bonus content I am also really excited to write and share with you all. 
> 
> So that's it! We will be forging on into Magnus Memorial: Senior Year, arguably full of even more drama and intrigue, following in the footsteps of its predecessor with a quite frankly unnecessary amount of plot details and intricacy!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, friends.  
> Stay Funky, and owo do stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	50. 4/18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks!! i guess there should be a cw for themes of loss, depression, and parental uninvolvement (nothing all that intense!)  
> also- chapter fifty?? what??? that means i've been writing this for twenty-five weeks now, which comes out to about six months. that's half a year of this fic being like, a big part of my weekly life. that's so strange lmao

-Martin Blackwood-

-4/18-

Martin sometimes felt a certain kinship with his students in the sense that, at 8:30 in the morning, he  _ also  _ wanted to slump over and sleep at his desk. The kids were lucky enough that they could zone out sometimes, but Martin didn’t have this luxury. No, he had to be awake and alert from the moment first period began, and now, in second period, it remained a challenge. 

He uncapped a marker and drew a few vertical lines on the whiteboard. In front of him, his AP 11 students stared, their eyes mostly blank. That was, except for Agnes and Jude- sitting next to each other, both of them waited with rapt attention for him to continue. The only other person who looked alive behind their eyes was Annabelle, and that was only because she was trying to distract Agnes with something under her desk. Martin wasn’t the type of teacher to call that out, and he instead smiled slightly, always warmed inside by the closeness of the girls’ friendship. 

“So,” he started, “when we’re charting nonfiction sources for a synthesis essay-” he pulled up the article on the SmartBoard- “we always want to remember to section off different areas of the text. Anyone have an idea on a way we could section this particular article?”

Before anyone had a chance to answer this question, though, there was a knock at the door. Martin glanced to it- had a student left the room and he didn’t know?- and saw the tip of a white beard through the window. 

Confused, Martin set the marker down. “Sorry folks, give me a moment.”

He walked to the door and opened it, surprised to see a barely familiar face standing on the other side. It took him a few seconds to remember who the man was, but it came to him eventually; Peter Lukas. The administrator who, if the teacher ‘gang’ were to be trusted, had apparently married and divorced Elias nearly a dozen times.

“Mr. Lukas,” Martin said. “Can I do anything for you?”

Peter plastered on that fake smile he so often had and spoke, his cool and clear voice pooling like ice water. “Oh, just Peter, please. And I’m here to observe this class period.”

Martin was taken aback for a moment. He’d heard of being observed by administrators from a couple other teachers who mentioned it in passing, but the occurrence didn’t seem all that common. Had he done something wrong? It was only his first year, Martin’s lack of any tenure whatsoever made his stomach churn in front of Peter. “Oh, uh- uh, great, come on in, then.”

He let Peter into the room. The broad-shouldered man, who wore a cap over curly white hair, nodded once to the students and then squeezed his way to the back of the room. He sat at the back table, leaning back with a clipboard in hand as Martin continued on. 

“Right, sorry about that,” Martin said. “So- my question about how to section off this particular article? Did anyone have time to think about it just now?”

Agnes shot her hand up in the air. A small smile on his face, Martin nodded at her. “Yes, Agnes.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’d section this off with the headings, and then separate by language device in the longer portions.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, that- that’s pretty much what I was looking for! Persuasion tactic would work in this article as well- and I do hope you all read it for homework last night like I assigned- but the headings are mainly the divider here.”

In the back of the room, Mr. Lukas- Peter- wrote something down on the clipboard, his head glancing up a few times at where Martin stood at the front of the room. He couldn’t let himself be shaken- he just had to continue on teaching, continue on with his charting and bullet points and highlighting on the board. Martin was a good teacher, he knew that, and he repeated it to himself, making ithe sentiment a certainty in his own mind. 

\- - - - -

Jon leaned back against the counter in the teacher’s lounge, sipping tea from a mug. Martin had made this tea, of course; Jon almost refused to do so himself at that point, claiming that Martin always made tea better. If he were to be honest, Martin agreed with that.

“You got supervised?” Jon asked, the lip of his mug tilted just in front of his square glasses. The other hand rested behind him on the countertop, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled to his elbows. Martin did his best not to stare. 

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

Jon shrugged. “Not- not necessarily, no. Our administration just usually doesn’t sit in on classes unless they have a reason to.” Jon paused for a moment. “...Was he wearing a wedding ring?”

With a snort, Martin gently shoved his arm. “Would it even matter if he  _ was?  _ I think Peter and Elias swap out those things like our students switch juul pods,” he laughed. 

Martin could say these things because their free periods coincided in the morning, and they’d both happened to be in the teacher’s lounge at the same time. Around them, the room lightened and sunlight from the windows sparkled on the institutional metals and plastics. They were the only people in the lounge- just the two of them leaning against the countertop, their voices against a backdrop of the whirring coffee machine and birds chirping outside. 

Martin was beginning to calm down. Whereas Jon used to make his heart flip and pound, made his mind race and make him feel something deep in his stomach, Jon’s voice and presence soothed him now. Something had shifted in the last few months where he could stumble into a conversation with Jon and feel better than he did before coming out the other end. 

“Jon- should I be worried?”

There was silence between them for a moment. Then Jon turned to look at him, lips pressed together, his brown eyes rimmed with gold behind his glasses. “I don’t think so. Unless you’ve- I don’t know, blackmailed a student or something, I can’t imagine what the problem would be.”

Just to fuck with Jon a little, Martin went into a guilty silence for a few moments, fighting to keep a straight face. 

Jon frowned. “Martin… have you…?”

Martin burst out laughing. “Dear- dear lord, Jon, no I haven’t blackmailed a student or- or done acid in my classroom or something,” he said between laughs. 

With a shake of his head, Jon took another sip of tea. “And which of us was the one with tenure again?”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-4/18-

“Let’s just get into it then, we have a lot to discuss.” Banks had hopped up on top of his usual desk and the GSA kids formed a circle, leaning forward, ready. Agnes dug around in her backpack bursting with books and folders to find the binder for the project. She laid it out on the desk top, running her finger along its now worn edges. 

She was still devastated from the loss at nationals, but the large anonymous donation had, to put things simply,  _ significantly  _ softened the blow. Even Mr. Banks was happier than usual, smiling with his computer resting on his lap. “Did everyone do their, dare I say, homework?”

There were nods across the room. Gerry and Michael, with their artistic experience (they did meet in Art Club, after all) and unique but balanced fashion senses, had been given the task of first ideas for the tiles and walls of the bathrooms. Everything would have to be run by the Board, of course, to try and retain some of the historical aspects of the building, but they had free reign first. 

Agnes, Annabelle, and Jane had been assigned the task of researching contractors. And that they did. About five new pages had been added to the binder with details on companies nearby that they’d found online. 

Nikola was to look at scheduling, Julia had been given budget duty. Together they would form the most essential parts of the picture for the project, all the elements that would get tied together into a neat little package and given as a final proposition to the Board. 

After discussing these things for a few minutes, Jane asked the question they were all dying to know. “Mr. Banks- how did the meeting with the Board go yesterday?”

“They’re never exactly the most-  _ agreeable  _ bunch,” he said. “Mr. Bouchard, although obvioiusly not all that enthusiastic about the idea, couldn’t exactly stop us since we’ve come up with even more than what they’ve asked for. Mr. Lukas and Mr. Fairchild acted strangely, but-” he paused. “Sorry, that’s not really my place to say to you all. But, in summary, we essentially have a green light.”

Agnes bursted with pride. This had, of course, been a group effort, but Agnes couldn’t help but feel she had played a major role in getting this to happen. Now every time someone like Gerry or Michael or countless other people came along, they could feel safer at the school. Even just in their first year the GSA could start to build a legacy at Magnus Memorial. 

Advisory was over too soon, and they left quickly after the bell rang, waving bye to Banks despite the fact they’d be seeing him in a couple periods for physics class. 

Annabelle hadn’t brought up the situation with the junior prom yet, and so Agnes hadn’t either. They were beginning to move past it already, she could tell; every conversation became a little less stilted, and although Annabelle wasn’t the kindest to Jude, good attitudes hadn’t come from the other direction either. They functioned, they were okay, and Agnes trusted that things would get better. 

In fact, Agnes and Annabelle had already planned a day to go dress shopping together in early May. They’d both been saving for weeks, taking extra PanoptiCoffee shifts now that ACC was essentially over for the year. Neither would be able to buy anything expensive, but they could afford nice dresses for themselves they could look back at in the future and (probably) not regret. 

If she were to be honest, Agnes wished she could go dress shopping with her mum. 

It felt like every important high school experience she had, every happy moment before she’d leave for university was dampened by the fact that her mum never experienced it with her. Jane’s mum came to the musical and drove her to ACC competitions to watch them. Jane’s mum would take her dress shopping for j-prom and constantly talked about how  _ nervous  _ the closeness of graduation made her. 

After the cast party and after she’d walked home with Annabelle, Agnes walked into her flat to see a light still shining under the bedroom door. This was strange- her mum didn’t often stay awake past nine thirty or ten. 

Agnes had shrugged off her coat and, exhausted, tossed it onto the sofa in the dark living room. Slowly, she’d crept to the door and opened it without making a sound. 

Instead of being asleep under the cover like Agnes expected, her mum was sitting up on the bed, staring down at the comforter. It took Agnes a moment to realize that she wasn’t staring at the sheets but at something on them. A step closer revealed a collection of photos, spread out before her crossed legs. 

There was Agnes’s father when he was younger, a bright eyed young man in front of an old building. Agnes recognized it easily- Cambridge, the university he’d attended. Scanning her eyes along the other pictures, she saw her mum laughing and hugging her father, or pressing a kiss to his cheek in grainy photo quality. There was a joy behind her eyes that Agnes hadn’t seen present in years. 

And then the pictures of her father holding Agnes as an infant. From birth she’d had shocking red hair- the doctor said she’d looked like a tiny spark at first, the beginnings of a flame. How ironic it was that her father had laughed at this and touched that fiery red hair. 

She’d been a rambunctious, misbehaving child, but despite this her mum had still managed to catch moments of tranquility in their lives- a picture of a family trip of her dad looking out over a lake, Agnes’s head visible in the corner. Her father tossing her in the air- she’d flown without a care in the world, without even a sign of caution on her face. 

Agnes sighed and had sunk down into the bed next to her mum. The two didn’t touch, they didn’t even speak, just looked at the photos and then looked again. 

Agnes had rubbed her thumb over the picture she loved the most- her father sitting beside her bed, a large book open in his hands. Even through the less-than-ideal photo quality, one could see Agnes drifting off to sleep. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Agnes’s mum shook her head. “You don’t have to be, darling.”

But that had all been days ago, and as she sat with her friends at the lunchtable, smiling and laughing and eating, she tried to push that dim night in their one bedroom away. It didn’t help her, she didn’t neet it. Agnes recognized that it was unfair to wish so desperately for her mother’s involvement when she’d been the reason for her grief in the first place. 

“The GSA donation thing is cool,” Annabelle said. 

Agnes nodded. “Yeah. It’s good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so fun fact i accidentally caused my history teacher to listen to the magnus archives? he's in his fifties (which isn't exactly old, but older than anyone i could relate to) and i'm interested to see how this goes down lmao. we are also a dangerously large step close to a teacher finding a fanfic of mine, which, strangely enough, is a silly long held fear of mine!  
> anyways my dear friends- stay Funky and please do stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	51. 4/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks!! this was a really fun chapter to write, so i hope you all enjoy it as well. cw for mild food self-consciousness  
> (also happy 4/20 in the MM world)

-Martin Blackwood-

-4/20-

“Can’t stay too late folks, I have to go home and get almost concerningly high.”

At around eight thirty in the evening, Martin, Jon, Tim, and Sasha arrived at the carnival, one surprisingly large for a travelling fair. It’d been set up in a large, empty parking lot but yet managed to become a beautiful sight at this time of night, the sun only having just set. Every light was on inside the fairgrounds, an explosion of color and sounds. Martin’s shoes crunched on the gravel near the entrance. 

Sasha furrowed her brows at what Tim had just said. “Why, exactly?”

Tim put on his lopsided smile and sent her a pair of finger guns. “It’s 4/20, baby!”

Martin snorted. “And you’re on a tight weed schedule? Too busy to spend a few hours at the carnival you yourself suggested we attend?”

“Well I can spend a  _ few  _ hours here,” Tim pouted, crossing his arms. “I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s all very…” he spread his arms out in the direction of the carnival. “ _ Grand. _ ”

The smell of something sweet drifted by, and Martin breathed in deeply. It had no particular scent, just general fairground food that somehow made him nostalgic of experiences he’d never had. Grease, powdered sugar, frying in shitty oils. He thought back to when the last time he’d gone to a carnival must have been- perhaps back in his underclassmen days of high school, before he’d dropped out. Before he’d spent years caring for a mother who couldn’t find it in her to care about him. 

Martin pulled back from these thoughts. This was going to be a fun night- it would  _ have  _ to be- and he couldn’t spoil that with his usual griping. His friends deserved more than that. He looked to the side and saw Jon, who stared at the carnival as well with an unreadable expression. 

“You alright, Jon?” Martin asked, quietly so that Tim and Sasha (who were debating over whether to get bracelets or individual tickets) couldn’t hear them. 

Jon nodded. “It’s ah… just been a while since I’ve done something like this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Martin said. He asked himself when he’d become so boring. Work and reading and editing Jon’s book, seeing his work friends, writing poetry and being alone in his small flat. But he’d never been the most spontaneous of people, even as a teenager and young adult. If he were to be honest with himself, he was mostly happy with the life he’d found. The loneliness- well, that just couldn’t be helped. Martin had always valued security above almost everything else. “I usually wouldn’t even decide to go, but being around Tim is a  _ hell  _ of a drug.”

Jon chuckled. “An injection of caffeine straight to the veins, if you will.”

“Meth run through an IV line, perhaps.”

Their conversation was cut short by Sasha’s announcement that she’d won and the four of them would be getting bracelet passes for the night. Martin hummed in satisfaction as they walked up to the ticket booth. A decade after high school, maybe he could have the night out he’d always wanted with a group of friends; the night he’d fantasized about at seventeen while preparing easy-to-chew dinners for his mum and setting up appointments. 

Twenty dollars poorer, Martin walked into the carnival with a plastic bracelet around his wrists and three friends by his side. Everything was much  _ more  _ once he’d actually entered the fairground- the light somehow became brighter, the joyous screams of children louder and clearer. Martin looked at Jon out of instinct to make sure he was okay and not about to shut down from the environment. But Jon seemed okay for once, and they advanced forward, a united front. 

Sasha pointed to something to their left. “Oh  _ Joooo _ n.”

Jon sighed. “What exactly are you-” he found whatever Sasha was pointing to. “I really should have expected that.”

Behind the metal-fenced line and barriers, a large carousel rotated in smooth, steady circles, the horses and assorted animals moving up and down on their gleaming poles. High, stereotypical carnival music played from a speaker somewhere, accentuating the ups and downs of the children’s ride. About half of the seats were filled, only a portion of those with actual kids. 

“That’s for children,” Jon frowned. “I won’t take a child’s potential spot.”

Sasha sighed. “There are literally three people in line for the next go-around.”

“Yes, but- but-”

Tim smiled and put a hand on his hip. “I’ll go with you!”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “Oh well if  _ Tim  _ goes with me, then surely my dignity will remain intact.” He said this sarcastically but with his lips twitching upwards, unable to hide his amusement. Sasha and Tim just stared at him through mischievous eyes- what a pair those two made. “I can’t get out of this, can I.”

Tim emphatically shook his head. “Absolutely not!”

To be fair, Jon  _ had  _ given up rather quickly, although that really was just saving them all time. Martin and Sasha hung back and leaned against the metal barrier to the carousel area, watching the two other men walk up to the carousel. With obvious excitement, Tim gestured to two alpacas beside one another and said something to Jon that Martin couldn’t hear. After a moment of them talking, Martin got the wonderful experience of watching Jonathan Sims climb onto an alpaca on a carousel. 

Martin shook his head and smiled fondly. “They’re ridiculous.”

Sasha exhaled sharply from her nose, almost a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. It’s part of why I love him so much.”

“Yeah,” Martin sighed, leaning his elbows onto the top of the metal barrier. “Me too.”

The ride whirred into motion, and Jon’s alpaca rose strangely high on the pole, something which obviously took him by surprise too in a wide-eyed moment. As if embarrassed, Jon glanced to where Sasha and Martin stood. Martin gave him a single wave, and Jon looked away much calmer, saying something likely sarcastic to Tim beside him. 

Sasha quirked her head and looked to the side at Martin. “Martin- you really like Jon, don’t you?”

“What possibly could have given it away?” Martin chuckled. 

Sasha shrugged. “Oh maybe, you know, the longing glances you constantly give him and how you laugh at  _ way  _ more of the things he says than what are actually funny. You two- you two communicate with your own little language, somehow, I don’t know, like you’re talking when you just look at each other. And Tim says you talk about Jon all the time.”

Martin exhaled. “Okay, I- wasn’t expecting an actual answer there, but I’m glad to know I’m really  _ that  _ horrible at hiding my emotions.”

“You shouldn’t hide them,” Sasha said. “I just  _ know  _ he has feelings for you too, I just know it. And he’s never going to make the first move, that’s just a fact.”

Martin shook his head. Images played in his brain, ones from the doorway of a bedroom at a New Year’s party, ones from the lounge room and the library. “Love you, Sasha, but that genuinely sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had, and you’re dating Tim Stoker.”

“I think that’s evidence of my fantastic ideas.” As if on cue, the moment after she said that, the alpacas moved to where they were directly in front of Martin and Sasha but beyond the barrier. Tim blew Sasha a quick kiss as he passed by, which Sasha reciprocated with a childish show of her tongue. 

A minute or two later, the carousel slowed to a stop and Jon and Tim stepped off it, smiling and laughing about something. The ride had seemed to move Jon’s mood from his usual place of indifference to the happier, distracted Jon that Martin really loved seeing. The two of them stepped through the metal gate and over to Martin and Sasha. 

Jon chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve done something like that since uni. It was strange to not scare children while doing so.”

Martin frowned in confusion. “Sorry- scare children?”

“They never seemed all that comfortable around the spiked jacket I used to wear,” he said. “Or the spiked boots. Something about the piercings, too.”

Martin shook his head like he was trying to clear it etch-a-sketch style. “Sorry, the- the  _ what _ ?”

Sasha and Tim expressed similar sentiments. Jon shrugged. “My style has- well, it’s changed drastically in years since.” Martin looked him up and down as if for proof- the cardigan and long, navy colored skirt certainly proved this. Martin found himself filled with an immediate need to see pictures of this period in Jon’s fashion, but held off. He could ask later. Jon likely wouldn’t want to show him that in front of Tim and Sasha. 

Somewhere along the way of this conversation they’d begun to walk further into the carnival, and now passed along game after game, each with sound effects and shelves of colored prizes sitting on the back walls. Martin spotted a few young carnies, each looking exhausted behind their respective booths. 

Sasha gestured to one of the games they passed by. “You know, I was a major balloon pop champion in uni.”

“Peaked in university, did you Sash?” Tim teased. 

Sasha rolled her eyes. “No, Timothy, that was the  _ baseline  _ of my cool. Nowhere else to go but up.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked. “You want to test that out, darling?”

Sasha crossed her arms. “Is that a challenge?”

Both taking a couple steps back, Jon and Martin glanced at each other, questioning what exactly was happening. Their competitive spirits could be enjoyable to share a presence with, though, as entertainment more than anything.

This immediately led to Tim and Sasha standing in front of the balloon pop tent, a dart held in both of their hands. With squinted eyes, Sasha held her dart in front of her face and made a couple practice motions. Finally, she leaned back and took her shot. The dart just barely hit the balloon and it did pop, a loud explosion of latex.

Sasha looked Tim up and down with an eyebrow raised. “All right then, tough guy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Several metres away, Martin watched them, amused. “Tim and Sasha at couples counselling; you’re Sasha, I’m Tim, go.”

Jon laughed. “Anything you can communicate,  _ I  _ can communicate better.”

“I can healthily express my emotions better than you!”

“No you can’t,  _ gym  _ teacher.”

“Yes I can, ah- guidance counselor? I don’t think that helps my point.”

Jon shook his head. “You’re out of character, Tim would never admit he was wrong,” he chuckled. 

“And  _ that’s  _ when the couples counselling comes in!”

Swallowing his urge to laugh again once he saw Tim turn around, Martin pressed his lips together. “How did it go?”

Sasha frowned. “Neither of us won.”

“I mean, maybe I  _ would’ve  _ if you hadn’t kept distracting me with your-”

Jon interrupted him. “Maybe you’re both just rusty.”

There was a moment of light silence. Tim opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again. “That a challenge, small fry?”

Jon shrugged. “It- it could be.”

Tim chuckled. “You’re on then. Martin, come be my wingman, make sure Jonny boy here doesn’t get all clever and pull some funny stuff.”

“You are largely overestimating how much I know about funfair games, Tim,” Jon sighed. 

Martin watched from Tim’s side of the game booth as he took shot after missed shot, only hitting one balloon out of the five darts he was given. In contrast, Jon somehow popped four of the five balloons he shot at. Pleased with himself, Jon stepped back and crossed his arms, a move that was almost funny for a man all of five feet and four inches wearing a cardigan and thin framed glasses. 

The tired looking carnie behind the booth sighed. “Alright, what do you want?”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Ah- excuse me?”

The kid sighed again. “You won, you get a stuffed animal.”

“I’m- I’m alright without, but thank you.”

The carnie rolled his eyes. “My manager’ll get annoyed if I don’t give you one, d’ya mind just picking a stuffed animal?”

Not one for unnecessary confrontation, Martin had learned, Jon stammered for a moment and looked up at the shelves. “Yes, ah- right, uh, the uh, cat there on the second shelf.”

He’d chosen the least colorful, least visually offensive prize they offered, a small plushie Maine Coon. Jon mumbled a thank you and took the plushie as they quickly walked away. He glanced down at the prize he held. “Does- would anyone like this?”

Sasha waved his question away. “I refuse to accept a prize from someone else’s game of balloon pop. What would my university friends say about me? The mere concept is unthinkable.”

Sensing Jon’s embarrassment, Martin smiled at him. “I’ll take the plushie if you want, Jon.”

And that’s how Martin ended up walking with a stuffed cat for the rest of the night, one that, although he hadn’t taken the thing himself, Tim insisted be named  _ Champion.  _ He apparently could think of no better way to torment Sasha.

\- - - - -

It was getting late, and around them the carnival steadily became less and less populated, the flow of people from earlier stagnating and then decreasing quickly once 9:30 hit. Now, closer to 10:00 than anything, the four of them stood in front of a large ferris wheel. 

They’d made their way through the fairground, stopping to buy funnel cake and cotton candy on the way, things Martin usually wouldn’t let himself eat around others, but felt okay enough to do in this small group. His self-consciousness when it came to eating was never something he’d quite managed to get over, and tried to avoid doing it as much as possible in front of other people, an old reflex stemming from things he’d been told in his youth. 

Their whole journey through the carnival had been to a final destination, although this goal had remained unspoken; the large, brightly lit ferris wheel at the back of the fairgrounds, the main attraction. 

Now devoid of their earlier teasing, competitive spirits, Tim grabbed Sasha’s hand and gestured with the other at the passenger capsule lowered to the ground. “Down to live out teenage romantic comedy dreams?”

Sasha smiled at him, a smile of pure fondness. “Absolutely.”

As they walked to the capsule of the wheel, showing their wristbands to the worker, Tim sat down and called out to Jon and Martin. “You two coming on as well? Come on now.”

Each capsule only fit two people, and Martin saw Sasha send him a very discreet wink. 

Jon glanced between the wheel and Martin. “I- I mean, we could go separately if you’d like, or if-”

Martin bit down on his lower lip. “Together is- together’s fine, I think, if that’s fine with you?”

“Yeah that’s- fine.”

They waited for Tim and Sasha’s capsule to be rotated upward and then sat down in the next one, lifting their arms slightly for the bar to come down in front of them. Martin squirmed for a moment, a bit uncomfortable in the small space between him and the bar. These rides never ended up being exactly spacious for him. 

And then, slowly but steadily they rose, climbing higher and higher until they could see all of the town, all of the tops of trees and the lights that lit the streets and the shops. Small suburban homes filled with families, golden and warm from where they overlooked, a picture of beautiful normalcy. Martin thought, if he strained, he could even see Magnus from where they were, the large three-floor building looming above most others in that area of town. 

Martin breathed in deeply, the air clear and crisp. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jon tilted his head. “It is. Strange how a place so familiar becomes new from a different height, a different perspective.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Martin asked. “We- we get used to seeing things one way, we forget just how beautiful they are, we forget what seeing them for the first time was like. And then you see everything new again, just for a moment.”

“Some things become more beautiful in time, though,” Jon said, leaning back against the metal of the capsule. “Familiarity can be an equally new perspective as a first look. What you may think nothing of at first can become everything.”

Martin turned his gaze from the sight before him to Jon, Jon who looked out at the town with a somber expression, his face new in the darkness. And, like the town and the school, Martin once again saw Jon for the first time; and the beauty of him was almost overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to drown Martin. 

The two of them had no choice but for their legs to press together and shoulders to brush, trapped in the capsule as they were. Martin couldn’t help but think of how easy it would be to lay his head on Jon’s shoulder in that moment, cloaked in the richness of night and drunk from beautiful emotion. Tim had been right; this felt like the final scene of a teenage romantic drama, the kind Martin had never gotten the privilege to live. 

“Did I really only meet you in September?” Martin asked. 

“Ah- yes?”

“Sorry,” Martin said. “It just- feels like longer.”

Jon hummed. “Just over eight months ago.”

The ferris wheel locked into place, and their capsule was at the very top of the wheel. They had the highest vantage point of anyone in the town at that point, of anyone around for kilometres. “There’s Magnus,” Martin said, gesturing to the school in the distance. 

There was silence for a moment, and Martin saw the inner workings of Jon’s brain moving intensely, a look behind his eyes that he knew well. 

“I’m, uh- I’m glad you came to Magnus Memorial.”

Martin smiled. “Yeah, me too, Jon.”

“Would you mind doing me a favor, Martin?” Jon asked, avoiding Martin’s eyes. 

“Of course not.”

“Don’t- don’t leave the school.”

This shocked Martin. “Why would I ever do that?”

Jon shook his head. “New teachers, they- they often leave after one year. Offered a better position somewhere else, didn’t think the school was a good fit for them, it can be a multitude of different reasons. We’ve had nearly a dozen new teachers come throughout my years at Magnus who left after just one year.”

“No, I- I promise I won’t,” Martin said. “I really don’t think there’s anywhere I’d rather be, or- or any people I’d rather be with.”

“Sorry, I’m aware that was a strange request.”

“Don’t apologise,” Martin said, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving, Jon, if you were worried about that. All of you are so strange, the students- just as strange, really, but I wouldn’t have that any other way, really.” Of course, he thought about Jude in that moment, how far she’d come since September. He’d never leave her like that. His fondness for both Gerry and Michael, the place he’d found in their group of teachers.

And then there was Jon, who meant something different entirely. 

“I’m not going to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello my friends! thank you so much for reading this chapter, i hope you all enjoyed it like i enjoyed writing it- sometimes we all just need some good pure carnival fun in our lives. and no, this definitely wasn't born out of how much i miss going to the travelling carnival in our town with my own friends lmao. not even a little related.   
> also, to anyone who celebrates it in the US, happy thanksgiving! i hope everyone is staying as safe as possible this year while around people you love.   
> on that note- stay Funky, wHoA stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	52. 4/28-29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks!! enjoy the chapter, apologies for the length- we have very exciting stuff to get to and i want to get to it ya know lmao

-Martin Blackwood-

-4/28-

The window next to their usual table at PanoptiCoffee was open today, and a breeze filtered through the screen, warm and sweet with the scent of spring. The late April brought warmer temperatures and reinvigorated life on the street, with people meandering in their walking, less frantic to get to where they needed to be. Through the window, Martin could hear the sounds of light talking and of birds singing in the trees. Cars rushed by, but on a Saturday mid-afternoon, nothing else did. 

A gentle breeze blew onto one side of Martin’s face. Across from him, Jon leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes tracking the words on the paper below him. The air moved his hair and briefly, for a moment, created an effect of a floating dark halo. Martin smiled, unable to pay attention to the notebook before him. 

Jon’s eyes flicked upward. “What are you smiling about?” He asked in a way that wasn’t accusatory, not even close- just genuinely curious. Martin pressed his lips together. 

“Ah- nothing. The breeze just feels nice. I can’t believe it’s nearly May already.”

Time passed so quickly, and yet so slowly; just yesterday it seemed he’d walked into the school for his first day of teaching, but he also couldn’t believe it hadn’t even been a year since meeting Jon and the other teachers. 

Jon nodded and took a sip of his drink, something iced, although Martin couldn’t be sure what. “And I wish it weren’t. May is, after all, arguably the most stressful month of the school year.”

Martin frowned. “Why?”

“Ah- AP exams and such. The ridiculous emphasis we all put on prom. It’s all a bit…  _ much,  _ is it not?”

Martin had never been able to attend his high school prom. In his freshman and sophomore years, he’d thought the whole thing to be rather pointless, resigning himself not to go when the time came. But then he’d found himself sitting at home during what was supposed to be his junior year, helping his mother get into bed and then watching television alone in the living room by eight o’clock. And in that moment, he yearned to be at the junior prom- even if it never seemed possible for him to get a date there, it was at least a place to be. A place to make memories, whether those memories were good or bad. 

“I don’t know,” Martin shrugged. “I think the prom can be a good thing, most of the time. It’s about the memories, you know?”

“Mine was rather disastrous,” Jon chuckled. 

“Well now you just  _ have  _ to tell me more.”

Jon sighed. “Oh god, it was what- twelve years ago now? I’d just gotten my first short haircut the day before and found this old, ill-fitting suit at some charity shop. I walked in with more confidence than I’d probably felt in my entire life before that moment and completely forgot that my calculus teacher, who chaperoned the dance, was friends with my grandmother.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Martin exhaled. “Not… not good, I assume.”

“No,” Jon said, wearing a sad smile- “not really. Was yours any better?”

Martin fidgeted with the edge of his jumper, questions racing through his mind. How much had he told Jon about his dropping out of high school, and his late diploma? How much had he said about attending uni years after everyone else he knew? Jon only knew the basics of Martin’s experience with his mum, their lifelong dance and confrontations. “Couldn’t go, actually. You had to be enrolled at the school to attend, and I- didn’t get to junior year.”

There was a moment of heavy silence between them, the gears visibly turning in Jon’s head, trying to work out exactly what he’d meant. “Do you- do you want to tell me more?”

If Martin were going to, now would be the time. It was just them in their familiar, private space inside a public one, their bubble of warmth and wind and manuscripts. But he couldn’t. The words didn’t come. “Sorry, sorry, I- no.”

Jon nodded. “No, uh, no need to apologize.” He paused. “Gerry wanted me to chaperone the junior prom this year.”

“Why’s that?” Martin asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Apparently he wants me to find out if it’s worth him going next year,” Jon chuckled.

Martin thought this over. “Do they need any more chaperones? I’d like to do it, maybe- it’s uh, it’s a bit silly but I’d… I’d like a chance to actually go. And Jude is planning to go, so I feel like I should keep an eye on her,” Martin said, joking about the last part, but also perhaps not joking. 

Jon pressed his lips together. “So ah, almost like a… redo?”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, a redo. Except we also have to keep sixteen year old kids from pulling a  _ Carrie _ on each other.”

“Never seen it.”

“Seriously, Jon? You haven’t seen Kill Bill  _ or  _ Carrie?” Martin laughed. “You need to write less and watch a film once in a while.”

“As my editor, shouldn’t you be telling me to write  _ more _ ?”

“And who exactly is the English major here? I rest my case.”

Jon shook his head but smiled in amusement. “Obviously you, because you certainly didn’t go to law school,” he chuckled. 

Martin sighed and flipped through his notes. “We should get back to the manuscript, now that that’s settled.”

The two of them were in the final stretches of this first editing process- just one more chapter left. Jon had detailed his plan to spend the summer rewriting to include the edits, and they’d copy edit that second draft to hopefully get it to a place good enough to send out to an agent. 

“So,” Martin started. “To be honest, wasn’t much of a fan about the way you transitioned between the first and second arguments in this chapter- it didn’t quite flow.” Listening intently, Jon leaned forward on the table with his elbows resting on the manuscript pages, hands folded under his chin. Martin tried to focus on what he was saying. “Did you write this one in the morning?”

Jon frowned. “I- yes. How did you know that?”

“Your writing is different when you feel you’re on a time constraint,” Martin said, as if that was a normal thing to know. “Like, ah- like the time limit you feel subjected to in your real life translates to this made-up time limit in your writing where you sometimes rush to a conclusion faster."

Jon blinked a few times. “Martin, I don’t appreciate being lied to. You were  _ definitely  _ a psychology major,” he teased. 

“Um, no,” Martin said. “Just a person who has read  _ way _ too much of your writing.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-4/29-

With a dramatic flourish, Annabelle pushed open the curtain to reveal what could only be described as an eyesore; a headache dyed neon yellow and adorned with ruffles. “This one  _ for sure. _ ”

Jane hid her eyes. “Christ, Annabelle that’s- that’s just  _ garish. _ ”

“I’m in physical pain right now,” Agnes said, but she couldn’t help but laugh at Annabelle standing in a showy pose in front of the curtain, barefooted and with the back of her hand placed on her tilted-back forehead. 

“I look positively  _ stunning,  _ you two are just jealous.”

The dress shop offered the girls many options- some beautiful, most awful. They’d all made sure to take the day off from work so the three of them could ravage some poor, unsuspecting shops and find the perfect dresses for j-prom. The activity was frivolous and fun, and exactly what Agnes needed. 

As one would expect, Jude declined to come, citing the fact she didn’t plan to wear a dress at all for the dance. Agnes couldn’t imagine her in one anyway. Whether Jude turned up in cargo shorts or a tuxedo, the thought of attending with her as a date made her childishly giddy. She wanted to tell everyone she knew; she wanted to freak out to her friends and squeal with them like middle schoolers. 

“I’d really love it if you went back into that dressing room and literally never stepped out again,” Agnes said dryly. 

Annabelle did a little twirl, the hideous dress flaring out as she turned. “Well, if you guys really do hate it that much, guess I’ll just have to try something else. Neither of you are any fun,” she pouted. 

Surrounded by their failed dress attempts, Agnes tried to look through another rack to find a possible winner. “Before you go back in, find me the perfect dress in my exact size, would you?”

Jane flopped back on the bench she sat on, making a soft grunting noise. “I am  _ this close  _ to giving up,” she said, giving no indication of what ‘this close’ was exactly. “Could I turn up in a burlap sack? Marilyn Monroe managed to pull it off.”

With a disheartened sigh, Agnes pulled a long red dress out from a rack, dark in colour and embroidered with a few tasteful vines running along each side. With Jane still looking for another, Agnes and Annabelle disappeared back into the small dressing rooms. Agnes struggled to worm out of the previous dress she’d tried on, a form-fitting navy blue. 

Agnes emerged from the dressing room to see only Jane still. “How is it?” Agnes asked. 

Jane scrunched up her face in thought. “You look great in it, but it’s just so… not your vibe?”

She looked down at the thick fabric, almost burgundy and with a distinct velvet sheen. Jane was right- it didn’t fit her, even if it looked nice. She was just about ready to give up when Jane held a dress out from the rack she was sifting through. “This one’s your size.”

A deep, emerald green, the dress was long and satiny, flaring out at the bottom hem. The neckline dipped in an elegant and curved v-neck. The straps were thin, but the chest looked to be supportive; she could wear the dress by itself and relish in the clean, simple lines. She took the dress from Jane with a grateful thank you and got to work slipping it on in the dressing room. 

Agnes stopped to stare at herself in the long mirror. Dim as the light was, she could still see the contrast of her flame-red hair and the deep green of the dress, clashing in the most lovely of ways. Agnes never thought of herself as particularly pretty- her friends, mostly Annabelle, liked to tell her so, but she knew this to be the job of a good friend anyway. In contrast, Annabelle and Jane existed in different realms of beauty- neither even close to sharing the same features, and yet equally ethereal. 

She took a breath and readied herself to leave the dressing room. This was the one and she knew it. Now, the others had to like it too. 

When Agnes emerged, she found herself struck silent by Jane and Annabelle, both smiling in their own new dresses.

Annabelle smoothed out the gossamer black fabric she wore. It shimmered ever so slightly and hugged her frame tightly, swooping lines matching those of her body. The dress both matched her nails and her spirit; elegant but almost teasing, an exploration of darkness in the context of fun. 

And then, and  _ then,  _ there stood Jane. Unlike Annabelle, Jane could never be described as the pinnacle of fashion; usually dressing in comfortable clothes and braiding her coarse black hair back except a few strands that framed her face. Jane’s beauty was a gentle one- it revealed itself slowly and gradually to the viewer. 

But that changed in this dress. Bright red, it followed an a-line and stiffly flared outward just above her knees, bright and bold. Jane beamed in it like an igniting star, and Agnes could imagine her clearly the night of the prom; her long and dark hair down for once, red lipstick to match the color of the fabric. Agnes smiled at this. Her friend deserved it and more. 

Annabelle stared at Agnes, her eyebrows raised. “Jesus, Agnes, that looks…”

“Absolutely  _ incredible _ ,” Jane finished. 

Agnes held her elbows, suddenly shy from the compliment. “You guys like it?” 

Annabelle’s eyes ran her up and down. “That is such a severe understatement.”

“So, are these it?” Agnes asked, looking between the two of them. Images filled her head of opening the door to her flat to see Jude outside, and maybe, just maybe Jude would look at her in shock like Annabelle just had. And  _ maybe,  _ Jude would pull her in and kiss her like she wanted to do nothing else. Agnes knew this to be unlikely- they’d established they were just going as friends, after all. 

But it could happen. She saw this teenage fantasy in her mind with alarming clarity, the kind that could make her head spin if she thought about it for too long. And in this small, sunny dress shop on a Sunday afternoon, Jane stared at Annabelle and Annabelle in turn stared at Agnes, and Agnes couldn’t pay attention to any of it. 

Shit, she had no idea how to match lipstick to a green dress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, my friends! if someone were to draw the girls in their prom dresses i think i would genuinely cry lmao, i just thought of that.   
> totally gonna shamelessly self-promo here, but a couple days i wrote a gerrymichael oneshot and i'm rather proud of it, so please do check it out if you so wish to! the idea had been nouncing around in my head for months now and i wrote the entire thing in a day lmao, it's only about 6,000 words long. do be warned, it's quite angsty though, so make sure you're okay with that and read the content warnings for it before proceeding.   
> May in the MM world!! how exciting ahhh!!  
> anyway, as always, stay Funky and oh so Fresh! Yeehaw


	53. 5/04-09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello hi! apologies for the short chapter today, but things have been a tad more hectic than usual this week- don't worry, we all good. and i'm really, really excited for the next few chapters, so please do enjoy this one before we Enter The Fray <33

-Agnes Montague-

-5/04-

“I-”

Agnes paused, her nostrils flaring as Annabelle lifted a cheeky eyebrow. “I swear to god if  _ either  _ of you make another sound and Leitner comes over here-”

Jude leaned forward on her elbows, a fist under her chin. “You’ll  _ what? _ ”

For a moment, Agnes was struck completely frozen, unprepared for the glimmer in Jude’s eye that sent a shock through her body. But she composed herself. “I won’t send you two any homework answers for all of next week.”

This, as she’d hoped, was effective to shut them both the hell up. 

Annabelle and Jude- especially when together- wholly lacked proper library etiquette. Jane, thankfully, stayed out of it, smiling in amusement at their antics and, god bless her, still trying to study. 

It’d been a few weeks since they’d done so, but today the self-proclaimed Spooky Lesbians had been able to secure a table in their usual corner of the library. After much convincing, Agnes lugged out the AP practice test books and dropped them on the table with a heavy  _ thud.  _

AP exams were just at the end of May, and if Agnes had been stressed about ACC and the musical before, neither of those things combined could equal what she felt about these exams. They were the culmination of all her academic achievements throughout the year- the final reward to hours and hours spent studying and doing homework. She needed those university credits like oxygen. 

The others, though, didn’t seem to feel exactly the same way. Jane studied on and off in her booklet, sometimes slipping into hums or doodling on scrap paper for minutes on end. Annabelle, however, may have tried to focus at first, but instead moved on to balling up strips of paper and throwing them at the others. Jude mostly spent her time wandering the bookshelves nearby or scribbling random, most certainly not AP practice paragraphs into a worn notebook. 

Agnes sighed. “Well, if we’re not going to get anything done this afternoon, we may as well leave or do something else.”

“ _ Juuude  _ Jude Jude Jude,” Annabelle smiled. “If we’re talking about something else, what are you wearing for j-prom? It’s only in two weeks, you know.”

Jude crossed her arms with a slight smirk. “What if I told you it was a surprise?”

Agnes bit her lower lip, her brain wandering. She couldn’t imagine Jude in a dress, not even a short or understated one.  _ Surely  _ she wouldn’t show up in jeans and a tank top- not even Jude lacked that kind of respect. 

They’d have to talk about the logistics of the night. Would one of them walk to the other’s house, or would they meet there? Were they going to take any pictures? Agnes knew these to be things Jude likely would not consider herself, and therefore, Agnes was responsible for the flow of the evening. She was okay with this fact. 

“Very secretive of you,” Jane said. “Does it include frills?”

“Maybe lace? A designer doily, if you will?” Annabelle added. 

Agnes remembered what Jane had said while at the dress shop. “Oh, Jane, maybe  _ Jude  _ is the one planning to pull off the burlap potato sack!”

The three of them laughed for a moment before returning back to Jude, who frowned slightly but without a single trace of sadness or anger in her eyes. “Anyone ever told the three of you that you’re  _ incredibly  _ difficult?”

Annabelle shook her head. “Hm, no. Intolerable, I’ve heard, obnoxious is another great one- not to  _ mention  _ sexy as hell- but that’s a first for ‘difficult.’”

Agnes smiled, both annoyed by the constant teasing and glad for it at the same time. Annabelle seemed to become more comfortable with Jude’s presence every day, at least to Agnes. And Jane would never let that sort of unpleasantness show from within herself- Agnes could never truly know what that girl felt. But Annabelle spoke her mind, and so the evidence pointed to at least  _ friendliness  _ between those two. 

Jude leaned back in her chair, one arm behind her head and a foot placed on the seat, her other leg stretched out under the table in a nonchalant display of confidence. Agnes found her eyes roaming the shifting of Jude’s muscles and the light, sparse scars that ran along parts of her skin, evidence of years of throwing bloody punches. The light that flooded in from the large library windows landed just on Jude’s face, brightening it as if the sun wanted to fall on her specifically, illuminating her features in imperfect brilliance. 

Agnes didn’t look away fast enough. Jude caught her staring, and the two locked eyes, a certain heat flowing out into Agnes’s limbs and buzzing, buzzing through her veins. All it took was Jude lifting one of her eyebrows to melt Agnes. 

“...Agnes?”

She snapped her head from looking at Jude to across the table at Jane. “Uh, sorry, uh- yeah?”

Jane held up the practice book for Pre-Calc. “You need this back?”

Sighing in relief, successfully having avoided a topic Agnes couldn’t even name, she nodded. “Yeah, thank you.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/09-

The way Tim had clenched his hand into a victorious fist was, in Martin’s humble opinion, entirely exaggerated for the situation. All he’d done was take Tim’s invite to go over to his flat instead of Martin’s for one of their hang-out nights. 

These nights made Martin feel like the university student he’d never gotten to be. Of course, he  _ had  _ gone to uni, but never considered himself to have gotten the full experience. No small cinder block dorm room or loud party music thumping through speakers down the hall. He didn’t get drunk the first time at a stupid frat party he didn’t even want to go to- no, instead, he’d cracked open a bottle of something (the something didn’t really matter) late at night after his mum went to bed. Martin was around seventeen at the time, and after enduring an evening at home with his mother, wanted some sense of normalcy. So he’d gotten drunk. It hadn’t helped. 

Now, though, Tim and Martin could sit on the couch for far too long with far too much takeout on the coffee table and play some games or watch a shitty movie for hours straight. Only a weekly occurrence, sometimes even less, Martin could ignore any guilt in his mind for the practice and try to enjoy time with his friend. 

When Martin walked into the flat, he first noticed a distinct lack of plants except for a single cactus he’d bought Tim once. Martin smiled at the tiny thing, still green and full of life despite having been given months ago. After all, only owning one plant did make maintenance a lot less stressful. 

Scattered around the surprisingly tastefully decorated living room, Martin spotted a few things that certainly belonged to Sasha. Her slippers next to Tim’s near the couch and the book on counselling for teenagers, for example, were strewn about as integrated aspects of the room. Martin suddenly found himself longing for this; the no-barriers mixing of two people and their homes. 

“Your place is actually really nice,” Martin said. 

Tim feigned offense. “ _ Actually _ ? You think so little of me?”

“How much of it was Sasha?”

Silence for a moment. “Fuck you for knowing me that well,” Tim laughed. 

Soon, the two of them were sitting side by side on the sofa, chatting lightly about something or other. Martin took another peek at the cover of the book on the coffee table. “So, does Sasha live here?”

“Hm?” Tim asked. “Oh, no, not  _ really,  _ but she’s over a lot, you know how it is. I like that she leaves her stuff when she wants to. It’s a nice reminder to have around.”

“That honestly sounds wonderful,” Martin said. 

Tim was quiet for a few moments before speaking in a quiet voice. “Martin, have you ever been in- in a committed relationship before?”

Sadly, Martin had to significantly rake through his memories to find examples of what he knew was there. “Oh. Well, uh. I’ve been in a  _ few  _ relationships, I guess- none lasted for more than a year, though.” He left out the fact that none of these relationships happened in the last four to five years for him. 

Tim nodded. “Got it.” He paused. “You know, you should really shoot your shot, right?”

Martin frowned, confused. “What are you talking about, Tim?”

“Oh, come on, with Jon. Of course.”

“We’ve been over this, Tim, it’s just a bad-”

Tim sighed heavily. “Dear lord, don’t say it’s a bad idea again.”

“But it  _ is, _ ” Martin said. “I can’t do that kind of thing right now anyway. It would make chaperoning the prom rather awkward, don’t you think?”

He’d been thinking about the conversation more than he was willing to admit.  _ A redo.  _ A chance to maybe have some semblance of a prom night, even if they  _ were  _ mostly just concerned with keeping the students out of trouble for the night. Martin imagined Jon in a suit like he had been at the wedding, polished and put-together and so  _ different  _ in the most wonderful way. Martin questioned at the most random of times what shirt Jon planned to wear under a suit, if that was indeed what he planned on wearing, and about exactly how his smile would look that night. 

This time, Tim was the confused one. “You’re prom chaperoning?”

Martin shrugged. “Yeah, just the junior prom. Jon and I both decided to.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and shook his head. “So you two are basically prom dates and yet you don’t think he likes you.”

A significant warmth rushed to Martin’s cheeks. “We’re not- not  _ dates,  _ Tim! We just both decided to chaperone, that’s all, and it would be- better- to have him around anyway.”

There were a few moments of silence. Tim looked around at this flat as if he saw it as new now that Martin was there. “You’ve seen the way he looks at you, right?”

Martin didn’t know how to respond. So he decided not to, and yet Tim kept going. 

“If you let him get taken by someone else, Martin, I’m always going to be angry with you for it. I- I’ve known Jon for a few years now, and never have I seen him look at anyone that way, not even Oliver. Not Georgie, not anyone. I’ve never seen someone actually make him  _ smile  _ so often. You know Jon’s laughter used to be a hot commodity, right? It was rare he’d even crack a smile at the funniest of jokes that we made. And he was like that at first when you came still, sure, but since then he’s…  _ opened.  _ Not as much as most people, still, but a lot for Jonathan Sims.”

Martin shook his head. “What’s your point, Tim?”

“That he has feelings for you too, and you’re a goddamn idiot if you don’t acknowledge that or act on it,” Tim said. 

Martin thought this through. A part of him had certainly noticed that Jon seemed…  _ different  _ around Martin. Like he’d walk into a room and, when Jon saw him do so, the innermost parts of his eyes would light up. He’d become less hesitant just to look happy to other people, just to even show his emotions. It made  _ sense,  _ but Martin wasn’t sure he could make himself believe it. 

“I just want whatever will make him the most happy.”

“ _ You  _ make him happy,” Tim said. “You’re so exhausting, you know that? Let’s play some Mario Kart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! you folks really do make my week so much better. ahh the chapter on saturday should be very exciting in ways i'm sure you guys are going to both love and despise!!  
> i'm hella tired, so that's all for tonight.  
> stay Funky and please do stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	54. 5/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> j-prom, chapter 1 of 2  
> (cw: brief blood mention)

-Agnes Montague-

-5/19-

Agnes couldn’t stop checking her phone. Every 30 seconds that passed she pressed the button and clicked the screen on, bright in the dimness of her flat. She’d gotten ready early- almost too early. Every nerve in her was alight with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, a combination she’d felt before but not with so much clarity.

Because tonight, Agnes knew exactly why she felt the way she did. She stood by the door with her dress, emerald green and sweeping nearly to the floor, covering most of her matching heels. Jude would soon be knocking at her door, and Agnes would step, take a deep breath, and open it; the light from the flat bathing her back, and she liked to think she would glow in the moonlight that fell on the silk of her dress. 

If she let herself dream any further, she saw Jude standing on her doorstep, eyes wide in surprise and awe, staring at Agnes with an expression that signified nothing but want. 

Tonight would be perfect. She would make sure it was perfect. And everything, _everything,_ would begin with her pulling that door open, the first time they’d see each other. 

Jittery and in need of movement, Agnes checked her makeup once more in the mirror. She’d love to fix something, but it was all in place correctly, a gentle nude lipstick and subtle eyeshadow with just a hint of green in the corners. She placed her hands on either side of the sink, staring into the dirty mirror of her bathroom, inspecting her face until she didn’t even recognize it. 

A few more minutes passed. And then, and _then,_ she heard a knock. 

Agnes restrained herself from rushing immediately to the door. She didn’t want Jude to think she’d been standing right behind it, waiting, although that was almost exactly what she had been doing. Agnes waited a few moments and then no longer could. Rushing to the door, she grabbed the handle, and- tripped. 

Heels and a long dress didn’t compose the best uniform for a sprint. Thankfully, she didn’t tumble down the steps or, god forbid, into Jude, but she did have to catch herself on the doorframe and smacked her knee hard against it. 

On her doorstep, Jude smirked. “You eager to see me?”

Heat rushed to Agnes’s face. So much for an elegant, awe-inspiring presentation. 

And then her body filled with warmth and electricity, but for another reason entirely. Standing there, illuminated by the streetlights and by the lamp above her door, Jude stood with one hand on her hip and, of all things, a _suit_ on.

She couldn’t see every detail of the suit in the dark, but it looked a luscious, velvety dark purple- _the color of royalty,_ Agnes thought. The suit had slightly darker but still apparent details, subtly designed and winding paths of baroque-like patterns. But she didn’t care about the suit. She cared about the way Jude looked _in_ it. The color complemented her olive skin in such a way an artist would likely want to recreate it, mixing shades until it matched perfectly. She’d done something different with her usually choppy, short hair, sprayed back and full of volume. 

Agnes smiled. “Well, I’m not a liar.”

Jude’s eyes ran her up and down, lips pressed together. “That color. It looks nice on you.”

They were quiet for a moment, taking each other in, blanketed by the flattering semi-darkness. It was a warm night; the breeze ran carefree through their street, and the temperature rose every day now. The wind blew through Agnes’s red hair that tickled her bare shoulders. “Thanks, I uh- you too. You… look really good, Jude.”

Agnes noticed a car beside the pavement, still rumbling. She furrowed her brows. “There’s- a car?”

Jude gestured to the vehicle. “I called a Lyft, figured you’d be in a dress, and walking halfway across town in a dress doesn’t sound all that pleasant.”

“How considerate of you,” Agnes teased. A bit calmer now, she stepped out of the flat and closed the door behind her, a bag clutched to her side. The two of them slid into the backseat of the car, and they were on their way. 

Agnes stared out of the window. She was going to j-prom with Jude. They hadn’t discussed what that truly _meant,_ other than their awkward hallway interaction at the cast party. Was this a romantic thing? Or purely platonic? She longed to ask, but dreaded the answer. 

Jude pulled at the frayed edges of the fabric of the seat in front of her as the car made its way down the mostly empty roads. “I’m a terrible dancer, you know.”

“I’ve been in more than a few drama rehearsals with you, Jude, so it’s bold of you to assume I _wouldn’t_ know that.”

“Damn,” Jude chuckled. “Rude tonight, are we?”

“Just to you,” Agnes said, smiling at Jude with a glint in her eye. 

Despite Agnes’s objections, Jude covered the cost of the Lyft. In almost no time they were standing in the parking lot of Magnus Memorial High School, staring at the students that walked in from every direction and funneled through the doors of the parking lot entrance. 

Agnes checked her phone to see a text from Annabelle. “Annabelle says the two of them are waiting inside by the water fountain.”

There were no lights in the car park, and the only source of light was the inside of the school, bursting out from the doors along with the faint sound of thumping bass. Agnes took a deep breath to steady herself. 

Jude sighed. “Right, we should meet up with them, then.”

They walked, shoulders occasionally brushing, into the lobby and showed their tickets to the two people sitting behind the table. Agnes scanned the crowded room for her friends and saw Jane waving them down, on her tip-toes to be seen over everyone else. 

Agnes and Jude fought their way through the rest of the lobby and their two groups combined next to the doors to the gymnasium, talking loudly to hear each other over the noise. “You look good,” Agnes said, staring at Annabelle, but then switched her gaze to Jane as well. “Both of you.”

Jane stumbled out a thank you, and Annabelle answered with a smug “ _I know._ ”

Inside, the gym didn’t even appear to be the same place Agnes took her PE classes in. Garlands and strings of decorations lined the walls, twinkling fairy lights illuminated the large room in a soft glow. The tables placed near the front of the room were nearly full, other juniors and their dates sitting around and laughing as they ate from the buffet line of food. Near the back, the dance floor didn’t have many people on it yet, but the DJ still stood behind his table with headphones on and a slightly nodding head. 

Agnes found the scene to look like a movie, something out of a Netflix Original teen drama, but hopefully less disastrous than those tended to be. It looked like a normal prom- and really, that was all Agnes wanted. 

The group found an unoccupied table near the folded-up bleachers and sat down at it, Agnes’s feet already beginning to hurt from the heels. They ate first, and the food from the buffet wasn’t the highest quality, but it tasted like memories; something Agnes knew she would remember, and hoped would be looked back on fondly. 

Jane, it turned out, could dance like a star, her movements graceful but fitting for any music. Annabelle’s dancing rather resembled a wounded animal, but her confidence nearly sold it. Jude didn’t dance much at all; when good music played, she’d rock side to side a bit, just enough movement to not look awkward.

“Aw, look at them!” Annabelle said at one point, gesturing off behind Agnes. She turned around but didn’t see much of anything.

“Who, exactly?” Agnes asked. 

“Sims and Mr. Blackwood are like, adorable over there.”

Agnes looked around again, and found them this time; their two teachers, likely chaperoning the dance, leaned against the wall, smiling and laughing about something. All their students had watched them gradually fall into easy company around each other throughout the year, the interactions between the two becoming a sort of reality TV show for the students (and some of the teachers) who actually noticed it happening. 

Jude had gone to the bathroom and Annabelle was off getting drinks while the other two were bopping around on the dance floor, talking rather than dancing. It’d been several minutes since Annabelle had crossed the room to get drinks. “What’s taking her so long?”

Jane gestured to that side of the room. “Probably the rather long line leading to the drink table.”

“Yeah,” Agnes nodded. “I guess that would be about it.”

Even after their conversation seemed to wrap up, Jane still stared at the line of people. Agnes frowned. “You okay there, Jane?”

Jane snapped back to the present. “Oh- yeah. Annabelle does look- really nice in that dress, doesn’t she?”

Agnes nodded. “It really does suit her. Yours does too, though.”

“Right- right.”

Agnes sensed there to be something more than what Jude was saying, but didn’t press on about it. Either way, Annabelle was finally heading back in their direction, carrying a few cups of punch. She handed one each to the other girls and held her cup out. “To making it to junior prom!"

They cheered, but after taking a sip of her drink, Agnes had questions. “Making it?”

Annabelle shrugged. “Hey, we could die literally any day. I think it’s quite an achievement to make it this far, don’t you?”

They laughed, and as Agnes moved from side to the side to the beat of whatever indiscernible rap music played, she could feel her feet aching in her shoes. Agnes looked down at her feet as if she could see the pain in them. “I’m gonna go take my shoes off real quick, I think.”

About half of the other girls at the dance had already done this, dozens of pairs of heels slid under chairs at the tables around the room. Agnes limped over to their own table near the bleachers and sat down in the chair, sighing in relief as she did so. The tempo of the music changed, switching jarringly from upbeat to something slow and winding. Ah, the slow dance portion of the evening. 

Agnes was glad to be sitting at the table as that song played. She knew she’d just make a fool of herself offering to dance with Jude, and to make things even easier, Jude hadn’t yet even returned from the bathroom. 

Halfway through undoing her second shoe, someone sat down at the table next to her. Agnes looked up and cringed.

“Uh- hey?”

_Jack._

Agnes sighed. “Jack, how did you even get in here?”

He gestured to a table nearer to the entrance to the gym. “Maxwell, uh, came with a junior- he got an extra ticket for me and let me get in.” He audibly swallowed. “So uh, how are you?”

Agnes rubbed her temple with two of her fingers. “I’d really rather not talk to you tonight.”

“I- I’m sorry about how I acted before,” Jack said. Agnes resisted the urge to roll her eyes- his sincerity was so thin it could have been easily cut by a dull butter knife. 

“Look, just don’t bother me again, and we don’t have to talk about any of it, okay?”

Agnes didn’t feel like getting angry tonight, and so she resisted the emotions bubbling up in her stomach. If he could just _leave,_ then the night would probably be perfectly fine. She’d thought she was rid of this kid. 

Even in competition with the slow music, Agnes heard heavy, intimidating footsteps approach the table. She looked up to see Jude, who stood with her hands in her pockets, staring directly at Jack. 

Jack visibly panicked and stood up, pushing his chair under the table. “J- Jude!”

Jude sidestepped around the table and got closer to the boy. Agnes closed her eyes for a moment, already exhausted by whatever this interaction would be. She had to open them again, though, because voices had been raised. 

“Get the hell out of here, kid.”

Jack stammered. “I- I- I wasn’t doing anything!”

Technically, this was true; but given Jack’s track record, Agnes didn’t find this to be too convincing of a defense. 

Jude shook her head. “Bullshit. I thought nearly cracking the skull of your friend would teach you a goddamn lesson, but I guess not.”

Agnes could no longer hear the music or the other chatter around them- it was still there, but as if it had been turned down like a track on a soundboard, the voices of Jude and Jack now amplified. 

“You can’t- you can’t just talk to me like that!” Jack said, but his eyes betrayed fear. 

Jude seethed, her expression calm but eyes fiery. 

Everything happened in a blur; Jack said something else, Agnes couldn’t even catch what it had been, but then Jude’s fist was flying through the air and connected with the side of Jack’s face, a collision that seemed to happen in slow motion. Agnes stood from her chair, shouting one of their names, but nothing helped as Jack stumbled back. When Jude took another step closer, he reached out and scratched her, _hard._ Jude barely flinched as blood welled up on her arm where he’d swiftly dragged his nails. 

Then the rest of the noises in the room _did_ actually go quiet. She couldn’t be sure whether it’d truly happened or if she imagined it, but she felt like every single eye in the room stared at the three of them, and the other talking and music stopped when Jack let out a yelp of pain from Jude’s punch. 

Jude moved again, trying to do something else, but then Mr. Blackwood was pulling her away and she let herself be taken, too calm for what the situation warranted. 

As a different chaperone went to Jack and a small crowd gathered around them, Agnes followed to where Blackwood and Jude had pushed through and were at the side of the room with Sims. Jane and Annabelle were stuck on the dance floor still- suddenly, traffic navigation had become much less manageable in the stunned room. 

“Jude!” Agnes pushed through a few people and finally stood with the three of them. “Jude,” she panted, “are you okay?”

“It’s not Jude we need to be worried about,” Blackwood said. He glanced to where Jack stood by the tables. 

“He’s just being dramatic,” Jude mumbled. Blackwood, the teacher Jude was closest to, sent her an annoyed glare. 

Sims pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at the polished wooden floor. “Christ, okay. Ah- Jude, you’re bleeding.”

The suit had ridden up her arm when she’d punched Jack, and that left her forearm mostly uncovered. Now the smooth skin was broken up by angry red scratch marks, blood beading at the surface. “I guess so,” she said. 

Sims tapped his foot. “Nurse Gertrude always keeps her office open during school events. Agnes- can you take Jude to the nurse’s office to get her bandaged up?”

The scratches didn’t look serious enough to really warrant bandages, but Agnes understood what Sims was trying to do. Getting Jude out of the room seemed the best idea so they could deal with Jack accordingly. Agnes nodded. “Yeah, I know my way around the room. We’ll be fine.”

The two of them stuck to the wall to get to the back of the room, avoiding any pointing or whispers. Agnes pushed the door open for Jude, and then finally, they were alone and in the quiet. The lights of the hallways, which were motion activated, flickered on. 

They didn’t speak as Agnes led them down the halls. Jude knew her way there, of course, but Agnes still stepped several paces ahead of Jude, unable to put her thoughts into real words. Things had happened so suddenly- without warning, without even a clue of what was about to happen. Agnes opened the door to the nurse’s office and stepped inside, switching on the lights. 

Finally, everything was truly quiet; finally the blood stopped rushing through Agnes’s ears. The harsh fluorescent lights shone down on them in stark contrast to the previous dimness of the gym, and because of this she could clearly see Jude’s face- unscathed, thank god. And still dangerously attractive. 

As she used to help Nurse Gertrude during lunch or after school sometimes, Agnes knew her way around the office. She rummaged through a few drawers to find bandages. The two girls were both silent in the office, and thoughts wouldn’t stop racing through Agnes’s head. Why did Jude have to fuck this up? Why couldn’t tonight have been _fine_?

She looked over her shoulder at Jude, who leaned against the wall, watching Agnes’s every movement, and Agnes just couldn’t stay mad. Her shoulders sagged. “Why, Jude?”

A beat. “What do you mean.”

“You _know_ what I _mean_ Jude.”

Jude sighed, almost aggressively, and took a few steps closer to the desk. Agnes found the bandages and shut the drawer, focusing on Jude and her smooth, confident movements, the sprayed-back hair that now began to fall into her face. “What if I said I did it because I was angry for you?”

“I can be angry for myself,” Agnes said, shaking her head. 

They stood directly opposite each other, separated by the thin desk. Agnes was grateful for the divide. It kept her from doing something stupid- whether that thing would have been slapping Jude or kissing her until she couldn’t breathe, Agnes didn’t know. 

“Let me be angry for you,” Jude said, in a low voice. Quiet, restrained. More so than Jude had ever been. Agnes felt her breath catch in her throat. Even in her suit, Jude looked disheveled, she looked _powerful,_ ready to rip through Agnes’s life like a blazing inferno. She wanted that more than she could admit. 

She wanted _Jude._

“What?” Agnes asked, a smirk lifting up one side of her mouth. “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

Maybe Agnes was reading things wrong. Maybe Jude didn’t lean forward, ever so slightly, her hands placed beneath her shoulders on the desk, head tilted. This was all so sudden- Jude had just punched a boy during their junior prom, and yet Agnes found herself forgetting this the second Jude looked at her. She lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I don’t want to take care of you,” she murmured. And then, before Agnes could react, Jude was reaching across the desk and pulling Agnes by the neckline of her dress, until they were both leaned forward. Agnes could feel Jude’s warm breath on her. 

“Maybe,” Jude said, her voice barely audible now, just above a whisper. Jude’s eyes were not on Agnes’s; they were ever so slightly lower. “Maybe I just want to _destroy_ you.”

Agnes’s breath came in shaking, her legs weak as Jude moved her hand from the dress to behind her neck, her fingers warm and brushing along Agnes’s skin. Their faces were close. So close it pained Agnes, feelings she couldn’t recognize shooting through her and setting her nerves alight. 

“Then do it.” Agnes lifted her hand to cup Jude’s jaw, tilting her head upward until their eyes were locked. “Destroy me, Jude. Rip me to fucking _pieces._ ” And she did. 

Agnes felt Jude’s lips on her own with every bone in her, every signal in her brain directed toward the sensation. No hesitation, they both leaned into it, pressing almost with desperation, with a hunger and want Agnes hadn’t known was so intense until that moment. Even this close, she longed to be closer, and she held the back of Jude’s head with her hand, a silent beg for her to not let go. 

Jude’s hand trailed down from Agnes’s neck and then to her waist, but the desk blocked them from pressing together, the wood hard and cold unlike the warm softness of Jude. Jude pulled her head back, leaving Agnes breathless. 

“Fuck this damn desk,” Jude said. Her low tone made Agnes bite her lip, and she stood still in place as Jude swiftly walked around the desk. They were on the same side of it now, and Jude took a step closer. “Up for more?” she asked, a smirk on her face. 

Agnes nearly laughed. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Agnes stopped her chuckling as Jude, with her muscular arms hidden beneath the velvety suit, pushed Agnes against the wall of the office. She sucked in a breath at the impact. Maybe Jude really _would_ destroy her; rend and tear the essence of her with those lips. 

But then Jude pressed in close, and it was softer this time. Less desperate. Agnes appreciated the effort at gentleness, but knew this couldn’t be the way for them. They were both hungry and she knew that. Agnes kissed her back, aggressively, pinned against the wall and yet fighting for some semblance of control as Jude’s finger traced her jawline. As Jude moved her lips lower, leaving a first kiss to Agnes’s neck, they heard the door open. 

Both froze where they were; Jude’s knee between Agnes’s legs, hands placed beside both of her shoulders. Agnes’s hand remained on the back of Jude’s neck. There, in the doorway, shadowed by the darkness of the hallway, stood Annabelle. “Just came to check up on you guys, are-” Annabelle’s sentence dropped away. “What- what the _fuck_?”

Agnes pushed Jude off of her, whose eyes flicked between the other two girls. Agnes’s breath remained heavy for a moment. “I- Annabelle.”

Annabelle opened and closed her mouth a few times, brows furrowed, obviously struggling to find words. She pointed at Jude. “Her? _Her_? What the fuck is going on?”

Agnes didn’t know why she felt ashamed, but she did. “ _Annabelle_.”

Shaking her head, Annabelle turned. With her arms crossed she stormed down the hallway, leaving dead silence behind. 

“Sorry, I-” Agnes stepped back from Jude, already missing the feeling of her lips on her’s- “I have to go after her. I’ll be back, maybe, I don’t know, just-”

Jude sighed. “Yeah. Go.”

Agnes didn’t have much of a choice. Without even asking them to, she was running down the hallway, her feet pounding and loud in the otherwise quiet halls. Everything felt different at night in the school; everything felt wrong. Far off, she could hear the prom happening in the gym, and couldn’t bring herself to care. The lights came on as she ran, starting into a buzz as she turned corners. “Annabelle?”

Where had she gone? Agnes tried to think of places, racking her brain for possibilities. Right down the hall, she knew there was a bathroom. One of the ones the GSA planned to replace, actually. But they hadn’t gotten to yet, and so she still opened a door that read _Women._

Agnes shut the door behind her and sighed in relief at the sight of Annabelle against the wall, her glimmering black dress falling to the floor in a silhouette all too dramatic to be found in an ugly school bathroom. Annabelle looked up at Agnes’s entrance and frowned. 

She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry” crossed through her mind, but she couldn’t entirely explain what she felt sorry for. 

“Annabelle, I…”

Annabelle interrupted her. “Were you not there in the gym? Didn’t you see what she _did_ tonight? We’ve been excited since freshman year to go to this dance, Agnes, and yeah it’s a stupid fucking- fucking school dance, but she ruined it for us.”

“Jack ruined it for us.”

She shook her head. “No, Agnes, don’t try that. Jack is a shithead but Jude- it’s not just tonight. She’s a bad influence, Agnes. I can’t watch you _do_ this to yourself.”

They still stood across the bathroom from each other, four stalls between them. Their voices echoed off the tiled walls. “I don’t need you to protect me. You don’t own me, you know. I can kiss whoever the fuck I want to kiss.”

Annabelle rubbed at her face with her hands, head facing the floor. “What is it that you even like about her, Agnes? You’re not even similar, not that I can see. Why? Why her?”

“She’s angry.”

“...What?”

“She’s angry, Annabelle, openly and freely and whenever she wants to be and I’m sick of _not_ being angry. I’m sick of doing everything right, I’m sick of pretending I’m fine! And Jude is the one person I know who isn’t afraid to shout when she wants to, or worse. She doesn’t _care_ what anyone else thinks of her and I want that. I want that so fucking bad, Annabelle, don’t you get that?”

Annabelle shook her head. “No. I don’t. Things were _good_ before she came along, and now- look at us!” She spread her hands, gesturing to the walls of the bathroom, but more so to their situation; to the words that flew from their mouths. “Have we ever fought like this before?”

“ _No_ ,” Agnes huffed. “But I want to fight. I want to kick and scream like Jude does.”

“She’s going to ruin everything for you.”

“You’re so fucking- _judgmental,_ Annabelle. You know there can be more to a person than their GPA, right? People have other personality traits.”

Annabelle crossed her arms. “You have so much potential. So much it _hurts,_ Agnes. You’re going to waste it. She’s going to burn down your whole life.”

Realizing what she’d said, Annabelle went silent. Agnes swallowed. “I burnt down my life once already. I lit my house on _fire._ I killed my dad, and my mum is practically brain dead now because of it. And I haven’t let myself be angry about that. And now- now I want to be.”

Annabelle, with more sadness in her eyes than anger, watched Agnes lean against one of the bathroom stalls, eyes to the floor. 

“Why do you even care so much anyway?” Agnes asked. “No, I _don’t_ appreciate the concern, but why do you have to be so against me finding someone?”

A few seconds passed, almost too long. Their eyes met. 

“You’re that blind to it?” Annabelle asked, with something almost like a laugh. 

“...To what?”

Annabelle pushed herself off the wall and took a step closer to Agnes, one hand on her hip. “I have been in love with you since _freshman year._ Since practically the day we met, really. And I think you’ve always known that somewhere in you. I think you just chose to ignore it. You and Jane and I have been friends since the start of high school. We stuck together because we _worked._ And every day I pushed down those fucking feelings for you and that was fine, until Jude came along. You’ve known her for less than a year, Agnes. Why her, of all people? No- don’t answer that, you already tried anyway.”

Agnes didn’t know what to say. 

If she were to be honest, she’d known. All this time, she’d known Annabelle had feelings for her, somewhere deep inside her mind. 

“I’m sorry, Annabelle. I really am.”

“No you’re not,” Annabelle said. “I can’t watch you be with her. I can’t watch you fuck up your life like that.”

Agnes felt the heat rise in her. “Then don’t! Don’t watch. No one is forcing you to.”

The door to the bathroom opened, and this time, it was Jude who stood at the threshold, concerned. “What’s going on?”

Agnes looked between the two of them, almost directly in the middle. On one side stood Annabelle, staring at Jude with an expression she didn’t know to describe. And then opposite her- Jude. Her Jude. 

“I’m sorry, Annabelle.”

One last time, Annabelle looked at her with a silent plead, an expression that desperately begged Agnes not to go. She could hear the words in her head- _don’t do this, Agnes._ But she did. 

Without saying another word, Agnes left the bathroom and the door closed slowly behind them. She was alone in the hallway with Jude- dangerous and beautiful Jude, like a Renaissance painting by a despondent artist. 

“What now?” Jude asked. 

“I just want to go home.”

Jude pressed her lips together, and Agnes was reminded of the feeling of them- she wanted that again, more than she could describe, but not that night. Not after what’d just happened. She needed to sleep and forget that anything existed, that this stupid junior prom ever happened. 

“Right,” Jude said. “I’ll get you home, then.”

Agnes left Annabelle behind in that bathroom, not daring to look back at it.


	55. 5/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks! i want to apologize for the rather minimal length of this chapter- my schoolwork has picked up quite a bit this week, and i didn't want to sacrifice the integrity of the writing for length, so i've split what this chapter was going to be into two separate chapters, the next one coming this weekend. anyway, enjoy!

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/19-

They were chaperoning junior prom together. They did not  _ go  _ together. They were not dates to the prom. They were chaperoning together. 

Martin had to repeat this in his head every so often, from the moment he got dressed in his suit to when he first looked into Jon’s eyes beneath the dim lights of the gymnasium. He knew the reality of their situation, and yet sometimes bought into the fantasy he’d created in his mind; that they were there,  _ together,  _ and he’d get the prom he always wanted with a man he loved. 

The scene looked straight out of a high school movie, the type Martin found himself ashamedly clicking on sometimes at two in the morning, very much ruining his recommended movie selections on Netflix. He knew he was there to chaperone, but Martin felt as if no one occupied the room except him and Jon- not the other chaperones, not the students either. He vaguely knew of their existence as the music boomed through the gym. 

The two of them stood to the side, watching as dozens of students passed by or stood and danced, some expertly and some awkwardly. Martin noticed Jude walk in with a few of her friends some time into the event. She looked great in a darkly-colored suit, a confidence in her walk that left Martin smiling. He’d watched her grow closer to those three throughout the school year, and hoped they were a good influence on her. Martin knew it wasn’t any student’s job to ‘fix’ another one of their pupils, but perhaps some of their dedication and ambition would rub off on Jude. 

Martin pondered saying hello to Jude for a moment, but stopped. He saw the way she looked at Agnes as they sat down at a table. He had to let them be, had to let them have their night, and he could have his as well. 

Now, as the dance began to swing into full gear and the music propelled dancers to the beat, Martin leaned back against the wall he stood against and looked beside him to Jon. Jon stood, in a particularly pretentious-looking tweed blazer, fidgeting with the hair tie around his wrist. Martin frowned. “You okay, Jon?”

Jon gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. 

Martin reached a hand out to his arm, gently. This felt right now- he didn’t touch Jon awkwardly or with hesitation; they could do this and it could be okay. “You can tell me if you start to feel overwhelmed, yeah?”

“Thank you, Martin.” Instead of pulling away, Jon leaned slightly into the touch, and it sent a distinct warmth up Martin’s arm. “I- I’m alright.”

Since the pep rally far earlier in the school year, Martin did that sometimes. Jon didn’t always do well in loud or crowded places, and Martin understood that, and never wanted to make Jon feel that he couldn’t get out of an area that overwhelmed him. But although he fidgeted with the hair tie, Jon’s eyes were calm; Martin could relax. 

“This music  _ is  _ borderline painful, though,” Martin chuckled. He let his hand fall from Jon’s arm, but moved a step closer, their sides nearly pressing together. 

“It would be hubris to expect anything different,” Jon said, but he looked out at the crowd of students with a small smile. “Do we, as a society, put too much expectation into teenage memories, do you think?”

Martin didn’t hesitate to answer- “Yes.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Because- we expect teenagehood to be the best years of our lives, and when they’re not, an almost strange sense of guilt gets attached to that. Personally, life became much better once I was an adult. Being a teenager didn’t go very well for me. We attribute being a teenager to building these important, lifelong memories- things like proms, first kisses, the like- but are they really as important as we say they are?”

Martin pressed his lips together and looked out at the students again. Most of them were smiling, wearing dresses and suits and many things in between, dancing with drinks in hand. He wondered just how much fun they were having, and how much they believed they needed  _ to  _ have. “No. No, I don’t think they are. My life only really began a few years ago- I have a rather distinct lack of good teenage memories. But I… I think that’s okay? I think that’s okay.”

Jon nodded. “It’s nearly impossible to truly know who you are as a youth.”

“Do we ever really know who we are?”

There was a pause. “No, because that’s not a static thing, and never will be. But we can get closer, don’t you think?”

“I hope not,” Martin chuckled. “I feel like I never want to know more than I have to about who exactly I am. Best leave it mostly alone, yeah? Not sure I  _ want  _ to know myself.”

The music was loud, so loud that Martin could barely hear what Jon said next, but he did. Just enough to understand. 

“I want to know you,” Jon said, quietly, unsure of himself. 

“Oh.” Their shoulders brushed, thick fabric against thick fabric. “You do know me, Jon. Surprisingly well, actually.”

Jon made a small humming noise, contemplative. “As I said a few weeks ago- some things are more beautiful as they become familiar.”

Martin didn’t have time to think about what exactly Jon had meant by this, because the song changed, and for once, he actually recognized it. The bass line was clear beneath the melody and Martin found himself tapping his foot to it, a slow, lingering tempo. A slow dance song. The singer’s voice rose and fell softly, an instrument in and of itself. Martin knew this song from quite a few nights of staying up far too late and dreaming of someone to dance to it with in the kitchen. Him and this person would hold each other close or do a joking spin, landing the turn with lips locked on lips. 

This person had long, dark hair and a rare but beautiful smile, one Martin pictured now whenever he dreamed of the future. 

“I love this song,” Martin said. 

Jon tilted his head. “I haven’t heard it before. I like it.”

“Come on then!” Martin stepped away from the wall and turned around to look at Jon. Without thinking about what he was doing before he did it, Martin reached out his hand, eyebrows lifted in an inquisitive expression. “May I have this dance, sir?”

Jon snorted. “Sir?”

“You heard me.”

For a moment, Jon hesitated, his eyes focused on Martin’s outstretched hand. But then he took it, and Martin realized they’d never touched hands this way before, never made this level of direct and intentional contact. Jon was warm- their fingers almost tingled when they touched, as if being shocked in the dryness of midwinter. 

As chaperones, it didn’t seem right to go further into the dance floor, and so they stood a metre or two away from the wall. Martin remembered January, tentatively wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist behind a backdrop of winter sunlight, streaming through the windows of his classroom. 

Now, it was less tentative, and Martin found himself with more courage, smiling and placing his hands around Jon’s hips. Jon didn’t stiffen as Martin expected- he avoided Martin’s eyes, but reached up and clasped his hands around the back of Martin’s neck. They stood close together, so close it was painful. 

_ Nothing's gonna hurt you baby _

_ As long as you're with me you'll be just fine _

Martin took a small step to the side, leading Jon, silent and letting the music fill him. The lyrics fit. Friends or more than friends, Martin decided he wouldn’t let a single thing hurt Jon; he wouldn’t let any harm come to this tiny, stubborn, lovely man. 

One of Jon’s hands reached higher behind Martin’s neck, his fingers resting in the hair just above the nape. Martin exhaled, coming pathetically undone by this simple touch. 

_ Nothing's gonna take you from my side _

Martin let his head dip forward, and then their foreheads were touching every so slightly, hesitant and yet comfortable. He let the natural shifts of the music move them, side to side, a slow rotation as the rest of the room fell away, a common but fitting cliche. Martin doubted that anyone else was in that room- just him, just Jon, a scene he’d imagined many times and only once could live. 

_ When we dance in my living room _

_ To that silly '90s R&B _

He could see himself with Jon in every capacity of the phrase. With him on their best and worst days, sharing in their happinesses and comforting in their sadness. Martin could clearly see waking Jon up early in the morning and practically having to shake him awake, or hugging Jon from behind as he made them dinner. He wanted to be  _ with  _ Jon- because he didn’t think a bad moment could truly be bad if Jon were around. 

And then, before Martin could do anything to act on this visualization, this concept for a future, a yelp came from the other side of the room. 

Jon and Martin were apart within an instant and pushing through the students on the dance floor to get to where they heard another yell. Martin could just barely see through the crowd, but clocked a small circle forming and finally reached it, unsure of exactly where Jon had gotten to. 

Between two tables, Jude raised a fist and drove it into the side of a younger boy’s face- Jack. . He stumbled backward as panic rose in Martin. 

“ _ Jude! _ ” 

Martin ran through the students in the circle, who parted without hesitation. Jude took another step toward the bloodied Jack, but Martin grasped her shoulders. For once he felt grateful for his build and easily pulled her away. Another teacher chaperoning, a man Martin didn’t know very well, rushed to the scene and began talking to Jack. 

With significant effort, Martin pulled a resisting Jude through the students and to the wall, shouting at any student in his way to move. He’d come to this event partly just to keep an eye on Jude- how hadn’t managed even that? Fucked even  _ that  _ up?

Panting, Martin put a hand out on the wall to steady himself. Jude had stopped giving up a fight and stood with a frown on her face, arms crossed. 

“Jude,” Martin said. “What was that? Do you understand what you just  _ did _ ? Why?!”

A few seconds later, Jon appeared at his side. “Apologies- rather difficult to navigate in here.”

Jude made no effort to answer Martin. Agnes pushed her way through a group of kids and jogged up to Jude, glancing between her and Martin. “Jude! Jude, are you okay?”

Now that the initial panic was over, Martin felt himself grow frustrated with Jude, annoyed at her reluctance to let a single event pass without doing something to complicate it. He and Jon had been close to something- what exactly that  _ was,  _ he didn’t know, but they’d nearly been there. “It’s not Jude we need to be worried about.”

This much also proved true; Jude didn’t immediately look to have a single injury, but back over at the tables, Jack still bled from his nose, wiping at his puffy eyes. 

Martin refrained from saying much else. Jon let Agnes take Jude to the nurse’s office, and once they’d left, Martin could feel an ache grow in his wrist. He circled it around and heard a loud  _ pop  _ from the joint. 

“Martin, are you alright?” Jon asked. 

Martin grimaced. “Must be from Jude trying to get away from me back there.” He tried to move it again, and it just hurt even worse. 

Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you need me to- to drive you to the hospital, or something?”

“I- I don’t think so?” Martin said. He tried to move it again, and stopped, as it seemed to be becoming a worse idea every time he did so. “I don’t think it’s broken or anything.”

“We’re leaving anyway.”

“Jon- they need us here, especially after  _ that _ .”

Jon shook his head. “We need to get ice on your wrist. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. “I think it’s already starting to get a little better.” This wasn’t a lie- after the ache swelled to a height, it stopped hurting more when he moved the joint, and he suspected the pain would ease shortly. He didn’t mind the thought of going home, though; restraining Jude had taken something out of him. 

Jon seemed to have the same idea. “I’m letting the other chaperones know we have to leave.”

\- - - - -

Standing in the parking lot outside the building, Martin looked back at the high school, still able to faintly hear the music. He didn’t know if leaving Jude on her own was the best idea, but decided he didn’t want to deal with it until Monday. There were other adults in the school to take care of it. 

Martin and Jon stood by the side, neither wanting to go back to their own cars. The warmth of the nighttime air refreshed Martin after the stuffiness of the gymnasium. The sky had cleared, too; the stars shone bright without obscurity. 

“I guess we didn’t quite get the perfect do-over of prom,” Martin said. 

Jon frowned. “It may have not been intelligent to buy into such lofty expectations of how tonight would go.”

Martin checked his phone- the time showed to be 9:30. They’d left the event even earlier than he thought. The two of them had gotten close, in multiple ways; he didn’t want to just let that go and have them never discuss it again, as they likely would. 

“It’s still early, though,” Martin said. “Do you- do you want to come back to my flat, maybe? I was planning on cooking dinner tonight. It wouldn’t exactly be the same as- you know, a prom redo- but like you said earlier, new memories are better than those done in place of old memories.”

The silence between them lasted only a few moments but stretched out indefinitely for Martin. 

“That- that, ah, would be nice,” Jon said.

Martin smiled, hope reinvigorated within him. Perhaps he didn’t need a redo of the past if he could begin a future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i be like wow my writing sucks and sometimes i be like.. damn... some things are more beautiful as they become familiar..... damn  
> (if anyone was wondering, the song that Jon and Martin dance to is "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex)  
> also, my ao3 got fucked up and comments didn't show up in my inbox like usual these past few days, so apologies if you commented and i didn't respond! i still appreciate comments a ton a ton and will be able to respond this time, so don't feel like i didn't care lmao.  
> thank you lovely folks so much <3333  
> as always, stay Funky and oh so Fresh! Yeehaw


	56. 5/19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a very lovely chapter to write and i made myself hungry both for pasta and for human affection while doing so

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/19-

As he unlocked the door to his flat, Martin was reminded of the sole other time Jon had been there- exhausted and fairly intoxicated after his Mechs gig. When Jon walked in, he looked around as if there for the first time. 

“Do you uh- did you even remember what it looked like?” Martin chuckled. 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yes, Martin, I remembered. At least vaguely.”

Martin still gave him a teasing smile as he closed the door behind Jon. He flipped on the lights, soft and yellow, giving the small living room a glow that guarded against the darkness that threatened at the windows. Still wearing his blazer from the event he’d escaped so quickly just about twenty minutes prior, Martin shrugged it off and threw it on top of the back of a chair. He’d deal with it later. 

On instinct, Martin headed to the kitchen. He’d have things to do there, activities to occupy his hands, which he desperately needed if he didn’t want to nervously fidget or start cleaning with Jon in his apartment. He’d invited the man over dinner anyways; why not cook some?

“You can take off your jacket if you like, or sit down,” Martin said, switching the overhead lights on in the kitchen. “I was going to make a vegetable primavera, does that sound alright?”

Separating the living room and kitchen was a countertop that stretched out from the wall. As if attempting to overwhelm Martin on purpose, Jon leaned forward on the counter and perched himself on his elbows, head tilted slightly to the left with a small raise of his eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were such a cook.”

“I _can_ make more than tea in the teacher’s lounge, you know,” Martin teased. 

Martin didn’t cook dinner for himself often- making the right amount of food for one person commonly proved to be a difficult task, and he usually lacked the energy anyway. But on weekends, he sometimes took a break from frozen dinners and takeout. Cooking offered him a time to breathe and to work on autopilot, as well as yielding a wonderful reward for himself afterward. 

Tonight, though, he’d be cooking for two. Pulling out a pot and a cutting board with Jon looking at him felt crushingly domestic. 

“Anything I could help with?” Jon asked. 

“You’re my guest,” Martin smiled. “I can’t just put you to work the moment you walk in the door.”

Jon shrugged. “As the guest here, I believe I solely have the jurisdiction here to decide that, and I am offering to help.”

Martin chuckled and shook his head. “You- you do know you’re intolerable, right?”

There it was- the quirk of the lip that made Martin melt, a small smile but more genuine than most he’d seen before. “I’m aware.”

Martin placed the cutting board and a knife in front of him, as well as a can of artichoke hearts and two bell peppers. “Well in that case, do you mind chopping these for me?”

They both began to work, slipping into a comfortable silence at first, each doing their respective tasks. Martin mindlessly hummed to himself as he often did while preheating the oven and boiling water for the pasta. He went through the motions of washing vegetables and spreading them out on a baking tray. Behind him, Martin heard the sounds of draining and chopping, and hid his face when he smiled from having another person there in the kitchen with him. 

“Do you cook often?” Martin asked, although he already felt he knew the answer. 

Jon hummed for a moment. “Not- not as much as I’d like to. My grandmother taught me, but I was never particularly good at it. I usually settle for takeout at this point.” He paused. “I don’t mind this, though.”

“It’s better when someone else is around, I think,” Martin said. He poured the pasta into the water and swirled it around a few times before letting it sit. 

They chatted on and off while completing the meal, and Martin always gave Jon a new task to complete- even if said task was just washing a dish- because Martin wanted him to stay in the kitchen. At some point, Jon had tied his hair up into a messily done bun, the shorter bits falling out and framing his face. Whenever a strand fell forward or near his eye, Martin resisted the urge to brush it behind his ear or run his fingers through it. 

When they finally finished, Martin sprinkling the top of the pasta on their plates with parmesan and basil, he stepped back and looked proudly at their work. “We made that like two functioning adults, didn’t we?”

“Proves them all wrong about millennials,” Jon joked, leaving the two laughing. 

“We might be destroying the concept of Asda, but we can make a _mean_ primavera.”

Taking their plates with them, they moved to the sofa, and once again Martin found himself fooling his own brain into thinking that Jon would maybe just stay there, maybe Jon would adopt the flat as his own and they’d formulate their living around each other. But such thoughts, he knew, should be reserved for when he was alone and dreaming, not when Jon sat down right next to him. 

Martin checked his phone for the first time in about half an hour. The screen blinked the time _10:04_ at him. Sometimes, you just eat dinner after ten in the evening- it happens. Smirking to himself, Martin shot Tim a quick text. 

**m.k.blackwood:** jon’s in my flat rn :)

He put his phone away, excited for the barrage of confused and excited text messages that would certainly come from his friend. Tim would probably tell Sasha as well. And maybe the whole group of teachers, as word did always manage to spread quickly. Martin still felt, somehow, that not texting Tim about this would be a certain betrayal of their friendship. 

Jon took his first bite of the dish and blinked a few times, eyebrows raised. “That’s- very good.”

“I think we make a good culinary team,” Martin said after trying the pasta on his own plate.

“We make a good team in general, I think.”

“Unless we’re chaperoning prom,” Martin chuckled. “Then we let a physical altercation happen on our watch.”

Jon seemed about to laugh, but then frowned. “Martin- is your wrist alright?” he asked, his tone concerned. 

In all honesty, he hadn’t paid much attention to the wrist while cooking, but if he really thought about it, he’d been using that hand less than usual. Martin rotated his hand and felt a slight twinge. More from surprise than actual pain, he cringed and let out a sharp breath. 

And then, Jon’s slender fingers were closed gently just above Martin’s wrist. He pulled the arm a little closer. “Can I take a look?”

“Do you have a medical degree I’m unaware of?” Martin asked, joking to hide the fact that he couldn’t get his mind off Jon’s fingers on his skin for the second or third time just that evening. 

Jon shook his head. “Just- let me see it.”

Martin let him push up the shirt sleeve to his mid-forearm, a feeling he wanted to bottle and preserve. Jon always seemed to touch with fear, almost too gentle, his hands phantom-like and soft. The wrist had swelled somewhat since the incident, but nothing major.

“I forgot about the ice,” Jon said, more to himself than to Martin. 

Martin huffed. “Can I eat first at least? I put too much effort into this to eat it cold,” he laughed. 

Jon hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “If it hurts, then stop.”

“Sure thing, Dr.”

Jon let go of his arm, but did so later than necessary, lingering on the smooth pale skin of Martin’s forearm. His hand drifted to the space between their legs, only a few centimetres despite them having the space of the whole sofa. Martin felt a vibration in his back pocket and checked his phone.

 **TimStoner:** you should kiss him

 **TimStoner:** give him a little smooch

 **TimStoner:** sash agrees. a little smooch would be ideal. even just a peck

Martin tried not to laugh and clicked his phone off. He set his hand back down on the sofa cushion and it brushed against Jon’s, just for a brief moment, but he felt Jon tense and then relax as it happened. Barely breathing, Martin moved his knee so it pressed against Jon’s. He waited for Jon to pull away. No such thing happened. 

As they ate, Jon reached to the end table next to the sofa and ran a finger along a leaf of one of Martin’s many houseplants. With its long and smooth leaves, dappled as if dipped in white paint and growing healthily, Martin took pride in this particular plant. Anyone else he would’ve asked to keep their hands off, but he knew Jon well enough to trust that he’d touch gently. 

“What kind of plant is this?” Jon asked. 

Martin swallowed a bite of his food before speaking. “That one is called an Aluminium Plant- its scientific name is Pilea Cadierei, I believe. It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jon said. “You do have- quite a few houseplants.”

Martin smiled. “And you haven’t even seen them all.”

He made conversation, but it did take effort; most of his brain screamed at him about their legs pressed together on the sofa, the rest of their bodies barely separated too, just a few centimetres of space between them. Jon’s leg remained solidly in place, a reciprocation that felt like a statement of acceptance. 

Jon looked back at Martin, taking his hand off the plant. “Where are the rest, then?”

“On my balcony, actually.”

“You have a balcony?”

“It opens from my bedroom,” Martin said. “All my outdoor plants that need more direct sunlight are out there.” He hesitated to ask the next question. “Would you like to see them?”

Inviting Jon to walk through his bedroom and onto his balcony, places only Martin had been in his flat since moving in, likely meant much more to Martin than it did to Jon. He’d not planned for anyone to see that space tonight, but if anyone were to see it, that someone would be Jon. 

Jon looked down at his plate. In the yellow light of his flat with messily tied hair and tired eyes, Jon looked more gorgeous than Martin had ever seen him before, balancing a plate of angel hair pasta on his lap and looking up at Martin with a small smile. “Can I finish eating first?”

Martin snorted. “Yes, Jon, you can finish eating first.”

They finished up dinner in about five minutes. At some point, their shoulders connected, although Martin couldn’t tell who initiated this contact. The two of them tended to drift toward each other without intentionally doing so, often ending up together when they may not have even meant to be. Such things were true in small touches and instinctive leaning- they were just that, instinctive. 

Martin took both their plates to the sink, refusing Jon’s offer to help wash the dishes and instead electing to do them when he didn’t have company in the flat. Martin led him down the short hallway and opened the door into his bedroom. 

His bedroom didn’t exactly scream ‘interior designer,’ but there was nothing to be embarrassed of. His bed, an old queen mattress, sat unmade at the center of his wall. Barren, the bedroom included a dresser, nightstand, and a chair or two in the corners of the room. He’d tried to cozy up the place with a wall tapestry or two and some bookshelves, as well as currently unlit candles. 

“It’s not much, or anything, just- where I sleep,” Martin said. 

Jon scanned the room. “I think it’s nice,” he said. “You do have quite a few books.”

“Indeed,” Martin said, smiling. “Don’t check the shelves, though, I’m sure I have some books you’ve given to me that I’ve neglected to return to you. Not that you’re free of persecution on that one, either.”

“I- I won’t bring it up if you don’t,” Jon said sheepishly. He gestured to the sliding glass doors on the other side of the room. “Is that the balcony?”

“No, Jon, just an interdimensional portal.”

“Haha. You’re hilarious.”

Martin slid one of the doors open and stepped aside so Jon could go through. Outside, the after-ten o’clock night was pitch black, but the sky remained clear; a blanket of white stars above them, the moon shining as a shadowed crescent. Martin closed the door to the balcony and from inside, dim light from his bedroom spilled onto the concrete ground. 

He thought, for a moment, about turning on the light above the balcony, but decided against it. The moon and the streetlights did enough for them. Likely having forgotten the purpose of going outside in the first place, Jon leaned forward on the railing, his elbows out over the edge. Beyond their little balcony, rows of suburban houses were lit through their windows, pockets of yellow in the seemingly endless darkness. 

“You have a nice view,” Jon said, leaning out into the warm breeze.

Martin considered this. “I don’t- I don’t think I ever thought about it that much,” he said. “But it is a nice view.” _Better with Jon._

The houses stretched out, a swirled oil painting of quiet suburbia. The beautiful simplicity of small human life.

Martin stepped to the edge of the balcony and stood next to Jon, and now, without fear, he pressed in close to the other man’s side, unwilling to waste this moment of perfect connection. “Jon?”

Jon didn’t turn to look at him. He kept staring into the distance, eyes in line with the horizon. “Yes?”

“Earlier tonight- you said that some things are more beautiful as they become familiar. What did you mean by that?”

When the silence between them started to extend for too long, Martin worried he’d somehow ruined this quiet and perfect moment, that he’d fucked this up yet another time. But then Jon spoke. “Have I ever apologized to you for how I acted when we first met?”

Martin furrowed his brows. “I uh- I’m not sure. You don’t need to, though.”

Jon shook his head. “If you somehow couldn’t tell before, I’m- I’m not very good with unfamiliarity. Even if I’m not happy with the life I’m in, I continue living it, because the alternatives might be worse, despite the fact that they could also be better. I think that’s how I felt when I met you. I think I instantly knew that you were going to provide alternatives to how I’d been existing, but I couldn’t tell whether they’d be good or bad or- god forbid both. I don’t have a lot of courage, Martin. I knew within the first week of meeting you that you’d change things.”

“What things have I changed?” Martin asked. 

Jon gave a small chuckle. “Me, mostly.”

“Oh.” Martin searched for the right thing to say next, something that would hopefully steer them to a place he thought this could go, knowing he’d need to have courage for the both of them. “I didn’t like you when I met you. Thought you were a bit obnoxious and pretentious, actually,” Martin laughed. “But I still couldn’t stop myself from wanting to talk to you. I think, somewhere in me, I knew too that you’d change things, and that the effort would be worth it. And you were. Are. You are worth it.”

“Worth what?”

“My time. My thoughts. My- my feelings.”

“Your feelings?”

Martin sucked in a shaky breath, his limbs suddenly much weaker. “Yes, Jon. I’ve… felt a lot about you since September. I’ve been feeling this way for a really long time, actually, that I… want to be more than friends.”

Jon frowned. “What- what do you mean?”

Martin’s heart sunk in his chest. “Jon,” he said, quietly, as if hoping the other wouldn’t hear him. “I like you- a lot.”

“Martin- are you sure about that? I- I don’t think anyone has felt that way about me in… a long time. There are parts of myself that most people don’t want to see. You don’t _see_ those, Martin? They’re all I _can_ see.”

Martin turned away from the railing of the balcony and instead looked at Jon, their eyes meeting now, the light from the bedroom falling onto half of Jon’s face. Martin knew. He could feel it within himself, he _knew_. 

“No, Jon. I see _you_.”

Martin lifted his hand to cup the side of Jon’s face. His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into Martin’s palm, a contented sigh leaving slightly parted lips. _Beautiful._

“Jon… can I..?”

Almost imperceptibly, Jon nodded, but Martin still saw it. As if frightened of breaking a thin spell, Martin took a hesitant step closer. Jon opened his eyes and wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist. 

He didn’t feel Jon’s lips at first, they met so gently. But Martin pressed in further and then he was sure they were there, and he realized he was kissing Jonathan Sims, he was kissing his _Jon_ and it felt better than he ever could have imagined. Jon reached up with his other hand and entangled his fingers in Martin’s hair.

Martin wanted more- all he could want was more, all he could want was this warmth and this feeling, Jon’s body pressed against his own. Martin’s hand traveled from Jon’s jaw to his shoulder to the back of his neck, and Jon made a small noise that set Martin’s nerves alight. 

Eventually, Martin had to separate for air, and with closed eyes he leaned his forehead against Jon’s, his arms finding anywhere they could to pull Jon _closer._

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Martin mumbled. 

Jon hummed in response, his fingers still tangled in Martin’s hair. “Should we get inside?”

“I very much do not want to move from this exact position,” Martin sighed.

Jon moved his head to instead have it rest on Martin’s shoulder, which was in the perfect place for him to do so, considering their height difference. “The sofa would arguably be more comfortable,” he said, his voice muffled from speaking into Martin’s shirt. “And I wouldn’t feel in danger of falling over.”

Chuckling, Martin pulled away, although he did so reluctantly. “Fine, then, we can go inside.”

Comfortable despite their very recent development, Martin closed the door to the balcony behind them and followed Jon out to the living room. Every time he looked out at that balcony now he’d be reminded of Jon’s lips on his and fingers in his hair, and that filled him with something indescribable. 

By the time Martin glanced at the clock in the living room, it was apparently close to eleven. He and Jon were linked on the sofa, Jon’s head perfectly fitted onto his shoulder and Martin’s arm wrapped around the other man’s stomach. They had not yet discussed exactly what they were or what this meant- both were too tired and too elated to talk in that fashion. Martin was content with running his fingers through Jon’s long hair like he’d wanted to for so long, their legs intertwined together. 

Martin nudged Jon’s head with his own. “Do you need to get home soon?”

Adorably tired, Jon somehow pressed even closer to Martin. “Your wrist,” he mumbled, his eyes closed. 

“You’re incredibly ridiculous,” Martin laughed. “My wrist is fine, Jon, but thank you. Do you need me to drive you home?”

With audible effort, Jon eventually managed to separate himself from Martin and stand up from the sofa. Martin hadn’t expected Jon to be a cuddly type, but he wasn’t complaining. 

All too soon Jon was on the front stairs leading to Martin’s flat. The single light hanging above the steps lit the two of them in a now-familiar yellow, a dimness Martin decided was the perfect light for Jon, although he thought that about most places they were in. Jon clutched his car keys in one hand. 

Martin traced Jon’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” 

As if a replacement for a response, Jon leaned in and kissed Martin again, having to rise on his toes to reach the taller. Martin looked forward to the day when Jon would let him pick him up or carry him- Martin was certain he could. No less exciting than their first kiss, the sensation of warmth and contentment flooded through Martin. 

Jon stepped back and nodded. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

Martin smiled. “Goodnight, Jon.”

Inside his flat once more, Martin opened his phone the first chance he had and texted Tim. 

**m.k.blackwood:** i did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn millenials and their being gay and destroying department stores and not knowing how to cook. but really though like these bitches gay good for them good for them!!!  
> i hope you all enjoyed reading that chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it. strangely, i'm predicting we are about three weeks away from this fic ending (with MMSY still in store, of course!). it could be more or less than three weeks, but if anyone wanted a general timeframe, that's about when i'd put it at. i also have another announcement coming in the next few weeks, so keep y'all's eyes peeled and magnus-y for that!  
> as always, thank you my friends <3\. stay Funky and oh so Fresh! Yeehaw


	57. 5/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovely folks!! today's update is a tad bit (i say tad bit like it's not six hours) earlier, as I didn't have school today! this is what happens when your dear author gets a bit of time Not doing endless assignments lmao. anyway, please enjoy <3

**TimStoner:** what do you mean ‘i did’

**m.k.blackwood:** tim i kissed him i kissed him

**TimStoner:** what

**TimStoner:** WHAT

**TimStoner:** is this a dream i had this exact dream once back in like february i had a cold and took a little too much cough medicine i think and i thought i woke up and you texted me that you and jon had like made out under the bleachers like high schoolers is this a dream

**m.k.blackwood:** tim what

**TimStoner:** ignore me

**m.k.blackwood:** i was also wondering if this is a dream but i don’t think it’s a dream because usually in a dream two people don’t wonder if it’s a dream

**TimStoner:** hm yeah you’re probably right

**TimStoner:** WAIT YOU KISSED JON. JONATHAN SIMS

**m.k.blackwood:** I DID OH MY GOD I DID

**TimStoner:** you are legally required to tell me all of the details

**m.k.blackwood:** well we had to leave the dance because jude got into a fight and injured my wrist when i pulled her out (it’s fine now). so as you know i invited him back to my flat and we made dinner together which was really nice, and then afterward, we went out to the balcony so i could show him my outdoor plants. and we had a whole moment and then we kissed

**TimStoner:** you don’t even understand how happy i am right now

**m.k.blackwood:** i mean i’m the one who kissed him

**TimStoner:** yeah but you haven’t had to watch the two of you both flounder around for an entire school year despite both obviously having feelings for the other

**m.k.blackwood:** i’m being harassed

**TimStoner:** so you two are dating now??

**m.k.blackwood:** we didn’t really discuss that yet

**m.k.blackwood:** so it’s probably not a good idea to tell anyone else about us

**TimStoner:** damn you’re telling me i can’t just scream this through the entire neighborhood

**m.k.blackwood:** lmao you’re ridiculous, but yes, please do not do that

**TimStoner:** You Kissed Jonathan Sims

**m.k.blackwood:** i did indeed :)

**TimStoner:** was it good?

**TimStoner:** actually please don’t answer that

**m.k.blackwood:** ...yes

**TimStoner:** dear lord martin i said don’t answer that i really do not want to think about jon being skilled in that area

**m.k.blackwood:** i do!

**TimStoner:** ON YOUR OWN TIME MY DEAR MARTIN

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Agnes Montague-

-5/21-

Agnes had never been a fan of school cafeterias. The sound of clinking silverware and people talking and videos playing on phones and teachers yelling announcements- it all overwhelmed her ears, as it would anyone, with every sound echoing off the walls and the polished floors. In the lunch line, she moved along step after slow step, grabbing packages of food as she went and placing them on her flimsy foam tray. 

Usually, she didn’t mind the lunch line, or even the cafeteria itself. She could push through the excessive noise and the harsh fluorescent lights to have a time of day when she could talk freely with her friends, or see others she often didn’t get to- Julia, Nikola, Mike, Diego, and every other mildly eccentric but enjoyable friend of hers at Magnus. 

Today, though, she felt the crushing loneliness of being by yourself in a room full of people. 

Agnes thanked the lunch lady behind the register and started off on her usual course to her lunch table before stopping dead in her tracks, still far from its corner. Over multiple tables filled with laughing people, Agnes stared at Annabelle and Jane, who sat chatting with a few of their friends from drama. 

Jane spotted her and looked up, eyebrows raised. Agnes pressed her lips together. She wanted to, needed to turn away, but couldn’t. With a pitying frown, Jane gave Agnes a small wave. 

Before Agnes could reciprocate with anything, Annabelle noticed Jane waving and sent her a glare, causing Jane to put her hand down and look away. For a fraction of a second, Agnes and Annabelle’s eyes met before Agnes broke the connection. Her shoulders sagged and she turned to find a new place to sit. 

_ “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I really am.” _

_ “No you’re not,” Annabelle said. “I can’t watch you be with her. I can’t watch you fuck up your life like that.” _

_ Agnes felt the heat rise in her. “Then don’t! Don’t watch. No one is forcing you to.” _

Agnes pushed away the memories of their last conversation, that wonderful, terrible Saturday night. She’d have to find a new lunch table to sit at, even if just temporarily. After they both got past their anger, they could figure things out. Annabelle and Agnes were best friends. They could figure anything out. 

Agnes scanned the room. She didn’t even know most of the people there, finding herself at a loss. Tired but warm faces ate contentedly and spoke with friends, with the exception of a few loners who preferred scrolling on their phones or reading during lunch, both valid choices. But Agnes needed someone or somewhere, at the very least to distract her mind. 

There, floating at one table amidst the drabness of the others, Agnes saw a familiar clash of bright colors. She wove her way through the cafeteria to end up standing beside an empty chair. 

“Do you guys mind if I sit with you today?”

Taking a pause from stabbing at food with their forks, Michael and Gerry looked up at her. Gerry nodded and gestured to the empty chair. “Yeah, of course.”

Thanking them, Agnes sat down at the table with her tray. She didn’t have much of an appetite. Half-heartedly, she swirled her fork around in the small bit of pasta. 

Michael and Gerry hadn’t said much of anything to her, just exchanging glances. Silently, Agnes took a bite of her food. Nearly a minute of awkward quiet stretched out between the three before Michael cleared his throat. 

“You alright, Agnes?” Michael asked, leaning forward to rest his hand under his chin. “You do usually sit with Annabelle and Jane. However, we  _ are  _ honored.”

Agnes sighed. “No, yeah, I’m fine, Annabelle and I are just- having a thing is all. It probably won’t last too long, I just don’t feel like talking to her right now.”

“Is it about Jude?” Gerry asked. 

Agnes resisted the urge to bend over, thunk her head against the smooth top of the table, and ignore everything and everyone else so she didn’t have to talk about this. But she didn’t. She just took another bite of pasta and stared at the tray. “How did you know?”

“Sims told me about it,” Gerry said. “He was chaperoning with Mr. Blackwood, you know.”

She certainly did know. Despite it not being directed at her, the sound of disappointment in Sims’s voice could affect anyone. Although his general stoic manner suggested the contrary, he did not often become angry or disappointed- the man seemed to have a predisposition for resignation, it seemed. She couldn’t get that moment at prom out of her head. 

“Yeah, it’s- it’s about Jude, among other things. The situation between those two has been a bit rocky since the start.”

“Well, tell Jude we miss her,” Michael said, smiling. 

That reminded Agnes- she’d promised to text Jude during lunch. “Yeah, I’ll do that now, actually.”

Agnes pulled out her phone and unlocked it, clicking on the conversation that always hovered at the top of her messages these days. 

**agnes:** at lunch- gerry and michael say they miss you

Jude didn’t take long to reply. 

**perryromaniac:** i really doubt gerry said that.

**agnes:** lmao you’re entirely right

Agnes hadn’t yet informed Jude about the rift between her and Annabelle. She didn’t have to yet. Until the next Monday, Jude was suspended from the school, and then she had detention every Thursday afternoon until the end of the year. Administration told her in no uncertain terms that if Jude were to get into another physical altercation on school property, she would be expelled from Magnus Memorial. 

“This is her last warning,” they’d said. And Agnes found no rational reason to go against this. 

Maybe she could convince Jude to get counselling from Ms. James, like apparently Jack had started doing, or even an out-of-school therapist. Maybe the whole  _ last warning  _ thing would scare her into some sort of semblance of good behavior. 

**agnes:** lunch kinda sucks without you around

**perryromaniac:** i don’t think one woman, even a person as wonderful as myself, could possibly make that cafeteria a tolerable place to be. 

**agnes:** hm yeah i don’t really have an argument there

**agnes:** d’ya miiiiiss meee??

**perryromaniac:** not enough to warrant wanting to be back in the school building. 

**agnes:** you’re cruel, jude. a cold and heartless meanie

**perryromaniac:** okay bottom

Agnes covered her mouth to keep from bursting out into laughter. Leave it to Jude to make a shitty mood slightly more manageable. The two of them hadn’t exactly talked about what they were yet- that seemed like a conversation to have in person. 

With a small smile, Agnes typed a heart into the contact name for Jude. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/21-

The past day and a half passed like a dream for Martin. The day after j-prom, he’d cleaned up around his flat like any other day, wrote some poetry, made some lesson plans- but every moment had been tinged with the rosiness of the night before, with the memories of time all too short spent with each other, closer than they’d ever been before. Martin just wanted more. 

Monday, though, he’d been forced to confront real life. He’d woken early that morning with a determination to make himself look nice for the day, as it’d be the first time he and Jon would be seeing each other since Saturday night. Every time he thought of seeing Jon again, an almost embarrassing level of excitement bubbled within him. 

Martin, too busy with homework assignments to grade during his free period, had not been able to stop at the teacher’s lounge, although he doubted Jon would be there anyway. He taught through his morning classes with an energy he hoped wasn’t noticeable by the students- they did like to gossip. Especially about teachers, he’d found. 

The last person barely slipped out of the classroom from his advisory period book club when there was a knock on the door. 

Martin, alone in his room for the first time in over two hours now, jumped from the sudden noise. He paused his rearranging of the desks to lean over and peer around the bookshelf at the door. 

He recognized the man behind the window in a heartbeat. Martin rushed over and opened the door, not caring about seeming overly eager. Jon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Ah- speedy.”

Martin could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “Just uh- wanted to see you, is all.”

Jon smiled and then hid his face as if trying not to show it. “Right, well, uh- I was thinking- we could go eat lunch in the courtyard, that is, if you’d like. It’s a rather warm day. If you’re not too busy.”

Too busy?  _ That  _ was ridiculous. “That sounds great!” Martin said. “I’ll grab my lunch and then we can go.”

On the first floor of the building, a hallway ran throughout most of the structure, with the cafeteria on one side and then branching out into smaller hallways for science, math, and the like along the route. One door, however, led outside into a courtyard between that hallway and the breezeway on the other side of the school, a small opening nestled between the two sides, sheltered from wind but not from sun. On either side of a winding strip of pavement, grass extended to the walls of the building and supported a few picnic tables. 

A few minutes after Jon’s arrival at the door, he and Martin were walking together down the long hallway, Martin resisting the urge to take the other’s hand in his own. He knew Jon likely wasn’t ready to do that in public. 

Jon used one of his faculty keys to unlock the door to the courtyard. On special occasions, the students were allowed into the courtyard, but such things required supervision that was not always readily available. So most days the sunny opening remained unused, just a tempting image of the outside world while the teachers and students roamed the tiled halls. 

They stepped out into the warm daylight, the sunshine falling onto Jon’s face, illuminating the warm tones in his skin. Martin fought down a fond smile and the two of them sat down next to each other at one of the wooden tables. 

Martin took off the top from the leftover pasta, the dish they’d made together late Saturday night, a memory that made the food taste even better. Jon seemed to notice the container of pasta and the edges of his lips quirked upward. 

“So, uh- how’s your day been?” Martin asked, such a question usually the mark of a dry or uncomfortable conversation, but today, he was just genuinely curious. 

Jon opened up a small salad from inside his satchel-style bag. “Fine, really. The AP students are understandably stressed about the exams next week- I am too, although I passed my own quite a few years ago.”

“An honors and AP kind of man, huh?” Martin chuckled. 

“I  _ did  _ go to Oxford, Martin.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Martin teased. “Wow, I totally wasn’t aware.”

Jon shook his head in amusement. “Oh, shut up,” he laughed. 

They naturally lapsed into a comfortable silence, eating as they enjoyed the warmth and the spring birdsong, the leaves of trees in the courtyard rustling in the wind as they grew from their buds. Martin had been right weeks before- this spring indeed did herald in a new beginning, the start of something he knew would be wonderful. 

For this to be true, it needed to actually start. 

“Hey, uh- Jon.”

Jon didn’t fully turn his head, but he looked to the side at Martin, brows furrowed. “Yes?”

“What are we, exactly? It kind of remained a bit- well, a bit ambiguous after Saturday.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Jon said. He frowned, in a way Martin had learned didn’t exactly mean upset, more just thoughtful. “Right.”

Martin’s chest tightened. “If this- if I, uh, moved too quickly there, you can say that, it’s alright I really do under-”

“No, Martin, it’s fine,” Jon sighed. “Yes, I think I’d really like that, if you too as well.”

Martin let out a relieved breath. “I- I definitely want to.” Maybe Jon’s reaction had just been surprise, or, if he gathered anything from the way Jon generally felt about romance from Saturday night, confusion. Martin ignored the nagging feeling that Jon was hiding something, writing it off as his own paranoia, his own neverending anxieties of being within a relationship. 

“...We should go on a date, then,” Jon said after a few moments. 

“A date?” 

“We haven’t been on a- a formal first date,” Jon said. “Not that it has to be-  _ formal-  _ just- an officially stated first date could be nice.”

Martin nodded. “I think that’s a great idea. I know it’s a bit soon, but- perhaps this Wednesday? I’m free that night.” Martin had to hide his true amount of excitement when Jon agreed to the date. He’d have to get Tim to help with the outfit again- not that he owned many clothes Jon hadn’t yet seen, but having someone else there to help with the decision (and to hype him up) could never really hurt. 

The thought of Tim sparked the memory of something else he needed to ask. “Just one more thing to ask you, if that’s alright?” Jon nodded. “Do you mind if I tell Tim that he can let people know? I think he’s kind of dying to, at the moment- sorry I told him without you knowing, but he’s kind of been my right-hand man throughout this… entire school year.”

Jon frowned again. This time, the expression had less thoughtfulness. “I’d rather wait a little bit longer.”

Martin ignored the voice telling him that this meant Jon didn’t  _ really  _ want to be with him. He’d asked for a reason, and Jon had a right to keep their relationship a purely private matter for however long he felt he needed to. “No, yeah, that’s fine, I- was just wondering.”

These negative feelings left him, though, as they continued to chat and eat lunch, leaning into each other and laughing. Without fear, Martin let his hand drift on top of Jon’s on the bench. Martin looked forward to the day they did these things as second nature, an instinctual response. He could already feel himself getting close to that. 

Jonathan Sims, his boyfriend. For once in his life, Martin considered himself a lucky man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! i figured that after three chapters in a row of such j-prom excitement, a chapter of aftermath was needed.   
> so first- if anyone was wondering exactly how long this fucking fic is, i reached 500 pages on Google Docs today. like a normal person. also, in even more exciting news, there are somehow only 5 more chapters left of Magnus Memorial? what?  
> stay tuned for an announcement next chapter! i think you guys are really going to like it. as always, thank you all so much, your support has been the reason i've been able to write this for so long now.   
> stay Funky, and definitely don't forget to stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	58. 5/23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally just good times w jonmartin. no holds barred y'all, i've written too many words to not indulge

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/23-

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Martin peeked out of his window and out at the street once more, waiting for a familiar car to pull up at the curb. He’d probably done so around five times at this point. There were still several minutes left before their agreed upon time, but all he could do now was wait, having already tried to distract and busy himself before. 

Thankfully he had another voice to help him as well today. “Jesus- deep breath, you already know he likes you. You’re literally dating.”

Martin glared down at the phone in his hand. The screen pictured a rather unflattering angle of Tim, as he was apparently carrying the phone below him while walking around his house. “Oh, shush. You know I am just about physically incapable of preparing for Jon to pick me up. It’s- it’s like he gets prettier every time I see him!”

Tim cringed. “Your ability to see the appeal in him is more impressive every day, Mart-o. To each their own, I guess.”

He’d called Tim for ‘outfit assistance,’ but truly he needed the moral support more than anything. They’d settled on a simple dark shirt beneath an open blue button down, short-sleeved for the warming weather. He knew that, at some point, he would have to stop going to help for Tim whenever he needed fashion advice (especially when Jon was in the equation) but he was not about to go cold-turkey on that on such an important night. 

Martin took another pacing lap around the sofa in his living room. “Come on now, Tim, I don’t even like women and I can objectively appreciate that Sasha is lovely to look at.”

“Well I like men too!” Tim chuckled. “You’re just a simp, but I accept you for this.”

A flash of headlights landed on the wall before Martin. Instead of sending a joking retort back through the phone, he forgot about Tim altogether for a moment and rushed to the window. An old car rumbled at the curb in front of his flat. Smiling, Martin turned the phone around and showed Tim. “He’s here!”

“Okay, ah- well, step away from the window first, creep. And then wait for him to come to the door.”

Martin nodded. “Right, right, that’s the normal thing to do.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “You should probably also stop face-timing your friend?”

“Oh,” Martin said. “That- might also be a good idea. Okay, I’ll text you later about how it goes?”

Tim sent him one finger gun, the other hand taken from his phone. “You look great, you are great, and Jon has been absolutely smitten with you since like November so there’s nothing to be nervous about. Bye!”

Martin waved goodbye and then pressed the button to hang up. As if on cue, just a moment after the call ended, there was a knock on his front door. His shoulders tensed. 

A first date. He’d spent so many hours with Jon at this point, smiling at him over their table in PanoptiCoffee, visiting each other and trading books between their classes. They’d sat together at game nights and taken walks by themselves, they’d made dinner together, and had kissed already as well. Martin clearly remembered the feeling of Jon and wanted it again, his lips already knowing what it felt like. 

With all of this in mind, Martin opened the door. 

Martin hadn’t been lying when he’d remarked about liking Jon more every time he saw him. And now, standing on his doorstep in an olive green jumper, hands in his pockets beneath the yellow of the porchlight, that remained true. “It’s good to see you,” Martin said, smiling, despite knowing that’d been a rather lackluster greeting. 

Jon pressed his lips together, the edges of them curling upward. He glanced down at the ground and then up again. “You too. Not that it’s been all that long."

The last time they’d see each other had been their lunch break earlier that day. That was when Jon offered to choose the restaurant they went to and pick him up at his home, and now here they were, just a minute or two past 7:30, in a situation Martin thought would never leave his dreams. 

Martin took a moment to check he had everything he needed, and then closed and locked his door, both of them now on the doorstep. They walked to the car, comfortable on the quiet street. 

A memory back from December suddenly showed itself to Martin, and he remembered that the glovebox of this car held an important artifact, Jon’s goggles for his band performances. Sometimes Martin forgot just how strange it was he’d managed to start dating the singer in one of his favorite bands, and that even stranger than that- the fact usually slipped his mind entirely. Jon was Jon to him. 

Jon began to drive, and they fell into easy conversation. “I never asked- did your wrist end up alright?”

“Oh,” Martin said, twisting his wrist around despite knowing the answer already. “It’s fine, actually. The swelling went down by the time I was asleep on Saturday and it didn’t start hurting again after that. I guess it just got pulled weird is all.”

Jon nodded. “It really was quite admirable, how you got Jude away from that kid.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “Is this you calling me heroic?” 

“Absolutely, yes, a knight in the most shining of armor,” Jon chuckled, heavy on the sarcasm. “‘That kid’ was in my ACC team this past year, actually.”

“Really?” Martin asked. He vaguely remembered the boy being on their team at a few events now. “I knew administration got involved, something about him and Agnes I think, but I don’t know much more other than that. I’d have to ask Sasha to find out.”

Jon hummed a yes. “I didn’t know the full extent of it, but he’d apparently been harassing Agnes for some time now. Agnes is one of our best members; I will certainly not be allowing Jack back in next year.”

Martin sighed. “Christ, that’s- that’s so shitty. Teen boys are the worst people.”

“We  _ are  _ primary sources, after all.”

“Okay, history teacher,” Martin laughed. 

Could this really constitute a first date if Martin felt he already knew Jon so well? He wanted to know more, of course, wanted to know every in and out of Jon, but that would take time. Martin was willing to wait and to learn. 

It didn’t take long before Jon pulled into a car park. When the car stopped, Martin stared through the window and past other cars to get a look at the place they’d just driven to, entirely ignorant of Jon’s plan for the night but ready to participate in full. 

The building was beautiful. As the sky had begun to dim, the lights from inside became more prominent from the outside, especially considering the largely glass construction. The restaurant had obviously been recently built and displayed a more subtle version of modern architecture, with clean and dark lines that complimented the glowing interior. A few tables with white countertops were placed beside the restaurant, minimalist flower beds and trees filling up the rest of the space. If Martin were to describe in a few words, those words would likely be  _ humbly fancy,  _ a type of atmosphere he found himself both exciting and terrifying to enter. 

Martin didn’t have much experience with higher end places. Between money, time, and a lack of people to go with, he’d never had a reason. “It looks beautiful, Jon.” Centered above the entrance was a white-lit sign. It said  _ Les  _ and then something else Martin couldn’t even try to pronounce.

Jon stopped the car, the rumbling of the engine fading out. “I see this place often driving by and haven’t had the chance to try it. Thought perhaps tonight could- well, be the night. It’s French and Thai fusion, I believe, so whatever that entails.”

The inside of the restaurant was hushed, as if the atmosphere, fragile like glass, could be broken by a single loud noise besides the gentle playing of a piano in the center of the restaurant. The lights had seemed bright when they were outside, but now had been toned down by the dark woods and fabrics inside, casting the interior in a dim filter that felt vaguely cinematic. A man in a clean white shirt and black trousers stood behind the lectern at the entrance. 

On a Wednesday night, the restaurant still had its fair share of people dining, but the space was nowhere near to full, and Martin felt confident they’d be able to get a table. 

“Good evening, welcome to  _ Les Note Provençal, _ ” the man said, a small customer-service smile on his face. “Table for two?”

“Ah- yes, please,” Jon said. 

The man nodded. “Is a booth alright?”

After their agreement, he led them through the restaurant to a booth near the side of the room. The space was not particularly large but the high ceilings and hanging lights gave it an air of grandiosity that intimidated Martin. As they wove through tables to reach the booth, Martin realized that nearly everyone in the restaurant wore nicer clothing than he did, a blazer at the very least. He just wanted to sit down- logically, he knew not everyone was staring at them, but it felt that way. 

The man gestured to their table, which they promptly sat down at. “A server should be here in a few moments with water and menus,” he said, smiling once more. Jon and Martin barely had time to thank him before he was gone. 

Martin fidgeted with the hem of his shirt under the table. “This is a really nice place.”

“It is indeed,” Jon said. “If I’m honest, I didn’t expect it to be so...”

“High end?” Martin asked. 

Jon nodded. “Yes, that.”

They were speaking quieter than they would usually, the gentle piano and the hushed chatter around them creating an oppressively quiet atmosphere. Martin barely wanted to speak above a whisper. 

As promised, a waitress handed them each a menu, stiff paper that resembled slightly yellow parchment. Every heading and dish was listed in curled black script, with accents and small symbols Martin recognized as French, but had no further knowledge of. She poured their water from a rounded glass pitcher and left it on the table after she left, right between Jon and Martin. 

Martin sipped from his glass of water, the liquid smooth and cold, of a higher caliber than that from the tap in his flat. He looked down at the menu to attempt to read it. Martin bit his lower lip, trying to puzzle it out. Some of the Thai aspects were at least slightly recognizable to him, but he lacked the ability to pronounce the items on the menu, much less know what they were. If he ordered one, it would be a leap of faith. 

He lowered the menu and took a glance at Jon over the table. Jon had his brows furrowed and he stared through his glasses at the menu as well. The prices were- interesting. Nothing so high that Martin would genuinely worry for his bank account, but more than he’d usually spend on a meal, even splitting the bill. 

They’d been talking comfortably before entering the restaurant, but now barely exchanged words, both of them concentrating. Despite the irrationality of it, Martin still felt ridiculed by every other person in the room. 

Martin looked up at Jon again. “Do- do you know what any of this is?” he whispered. 

Jon grimaced and shook his head. 

The waitress returned to the table. Had it already been that long? “Any drinks or hors’ d'oeuvres for the table?”

Martin looked at Jon, raising his eyebrows. Jon shrugged. “I don’t think we’re quite ready yet,” Martin said. 

“Take your time,” the waitress smiled. She left again, and Martin let out a breath. 

“It’s- it’s a  _ very  _ nice place.” Jon set the menu down. “I just am not quite sure if…”

“It’s really our style?” Martin finished. 

Jon nodded. “Yes, that.”

“We haven’t ordered anything.” Martin looked around at the restaurant as if someone were listening in on them, which, of course, was ridiculous, and he knew this. “We- we could just  _ go _ .”

“That feels wrong,” Jon chuckled. “I’ve never left a restaurant before eating.”

“First time for everything?” Martin said, a questioning smile on his face. 

As if they were breaking some sort of law, the two of them stood from the booth and navigated their way back through the room again. Martin did admire the decor and the attention to detail of the restaurant; even if it wasn’t Martin’s scene, he respected the art of it. Perhaps at some point they could return with an idea of what to expect.  _ Maybe even for an anniversary,  _ Martin thought. 

They stood behind the lectern. Knowing Jon would prefer not to do this kind of thing, Martin stepped in front of it and caught the attention of the man again. “Sorry, something came up and we have to leave,” Martin said. “We hadn’t ordered, just got water.”

The man hid an exasperated sigh behind his smile. “Well, we hope you come again soon, have a good night."

Exchanging glances, they rushed out of the restaurant faster than necessary, but this was because Martin found himself close to bursting with laughter; something about the experience had felt good to him, possibly the presence of a shared feeling between the two of them, a common thread. 

As soon as they stepped outside the building, Martin stopped and began to laugh. Jon did so too, stealing looks back at the interior of the restaurant in the darkness of just-fallen nighttime. Martin wiped a small tear from his eye. “Christ, Jon, why are we  _ like  _ this?” he asked between chuckles.

Jon just shook his head, still smiling. “I couldn’t tell you.”

Calm again, they shied further away from the building, aware of the glass that threatened to expose their antics to the people inside. Jon looked around the car park. “What exactly should we do now then?” he asked. 

Martin thought for a moment, racking his brain for possibilities. He did recognize the neighborhood- he’d walked around here a few times before, as it wasn’t far from his flat. The restaurant was nestled on the side of the only thing nearby that could at all be called a major road, but it branched out into tree-lined lanes. Just a few blocks down, a main street would run through a town center lined with shops. 

“I think there’s a cafe I know nearby,” Martin said, still mapping out the destination in his mind. “Not far, we can leave the car here. It’s a warm night anyway.”

The air around them did indeed buzz with a pleasant, close-to-summer temperature, sweet-smelling and full of life. A nice night for a walk, in Martin’s opinion. 

“Lead the way, then,” Jon said. 

Resisting the urge to take Jon’s hand in his own- and he so wanted to, Jon’s hands were smaller than his and looked as if they would fit well- he led them a couple blocks over and then down a pleasant side road of trees and older homes. Martin appreciated them each, many Tudor or Georgian or Edwardian, likely expensive but not extravagantly so. 

They chatted lightly about something, both distracted by their lush surroundings but comfortable. Eventually Martin turned them again, and he sighed in relief that he’d been correct with the navigation as he stepped onto the pavement of a main street lined with shops and restaurants. 

“And- here it is,” Martin said as they walked up to a small cafe. A few groups of people sat and sipped drinks or ate pastries outside, talking under yellow strings of lights. When his eyes didn’t focus on them, Martin could have mistaken each light for a star against the backdrop of the clear night sky. 

Just a few shops down from the cafe was a small park, lit by gas lamps on posts that lined pathways. He’d have to remember that. 

“We seem to gravitate to coffee places,” Jon commented. “Do either of us even like coffee?”

“I don’t. Bad aftertaste, you know? I’d much rather drink several cups of breakfast tea and then get on with my day.”

“I’m glad we agree then.” Jon paused for a moment. “I refuse to kiss someone who has coffee breath.”

Martin felt heat rush through his face at this comment. Jon could say one offhand thing and make Martin’s entire mouth go dry- it really was a talent. “Well, it’s tea for both of us in that case.”

Standing in the short line to the counter inside the cafe, Martin pulled out his phone and typed a quick text to Tim. 

**m.k.blackwood:** can’t talk now. it’s been going interestingly, but not in a bad way. will update later

Having done his duty as a good friend, Martin put the phone away and ordered. The full inventory of their food and drinks, once standing outside the cafe again, was a chai for Martin and London Fog for Jon, two sandwiches, and a cookie (peanut butter, of course) to share. 

Martin took a few steps toward the park, gesturing for Jon to follow. 

The park was mostly grass and trees, with a few benches along winding pathways, gas lamps illuminating the area in a soft and dim light. Only one other person sat at the other side of the park, turning pages in a book beneath a gnarled tree. Martin noticed a small gazebo fit with benches down the pathway. 

At the entrance to the park, Martin turned to Jon, holding their bag of food in one hand and his tea in the other. He slid the bag down his arm and transferred his tea to the same, leaving his other hand free. He couldn’t think of a better setting to hold it out to Jon. “Would it be alright if we..?”

Jon nodded and gently placed his hand in Martin’s. They’d touched before in this way- they’d kissed, of course they had- but something about the deliberateness of this still felt foreign to Martin. Jon’s hands were warm and soft and fit perfectly into Martin’s, connected and now hanging between the two of them. 

So close their shoulders brushed together, Jon and Martin strolled down the winding path, taking their time. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Jon said. “Much more our- style, as you said earlier.”

“Am I allowed to use the cheesy ‘not as beautiful as you’ line?” Martin asked, a teasing smile on his face. 

Jon’s gaze landed on the ground before them. “I wouldn’t complain, really, if you wanted to.”

“Well then,” Martin said, squeezing Jon’s hand gently- “it is nowhere  _ near  _ as beautiful as you are.”

“Did that fill your quota for the night?” Jon teased. 

“My quota of  _ what,  _ exactly?”

“Cliche but genuine romantic one-liners, of course.”

“Oh you best be ready for them because at least three are coming at you every date night,” Martin chuckled. “And that’s in the low end.”

Jon gave him a fake frown. “You can’t take all of them, Martin, that’s just simply unfair.”

Unlike the quiet of the restaurant, the silence of the park was more akin to a thick and warm blanket, something comforting and soft that they could both take respite beneath. 

“Show me what you’ve got then, I don’t trust it,” Martin said. 

Jon took a moment to consider. Martin nearly started to say something else when Jon finally spoke. “If a star fell every time I thought about you or pictured your face, there would be none left in the sky. But I would rather look in your eyes than at the stars anyway; they’re far more beautiful.”

Martin snorted. “You’re the worst person, Jon.”

“Obviously not,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re smiling.”

“Just come on, we should eat before the sandwiches get cold,” Martin chuckled. 

Having reached the gazebo, they settled onto the bench. He still felt the nervousness of the initial few weeks of a relationship, but had never been so unafraid to press close to Jon, passing him the sandwich and unwrapping his own. 

“I’m aware this is our first date,” Jon said between bites of his sandwich. “But considering that we’ve gone to PanoptiCoffee so many times, I propose we call the next date our hundredth or so.”

Martin nodded. “Hundredth date. Sounds about correct.”

After their sandwiches were finished, palettes cleansed with their respective teas, Martin unwrapped the cookie and broke it in half. He passed one of the halves to Jon. “Why do you only like peanut butter cookies?”

Jon shrugged. “Others are too sweet for me.”

“What about like… bittersweet chocolate?”

“Hm,” Jon said. “You’re challenging my entire worldview, Martin, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“That’s just what I do.”

Hesitant, Martin reached his arm around Jon’s shoulders, pulling him closer to himself. Jon froze for a moment but then relaxed into Martin’s side. He was so small in comparison to Martin, or at least it felt that way; Martin wanted to keep Jon close and protect him, because he felt he could. 

Jon let out a deep exhale, his eyes closing for a moment as his head fell into the space between Martin’s head and his shoulder. Martin rested his own head on top of Jon’s and they took a moment to breathe in the quiet of the night. He thought back to himself in September, avoiding Jon out of frustration but still stealing glances whenever he could. 

And now Martin was comfortably shifting Jon close to him, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Jon’s shoulder. Jon let out a contented hum.

Martin let his hand reach up, his fingers threading through Jon’s long hair. In a moment of confidence, Martin pressed a light kiss to Jon’s forehead. He tensed for a moment during the contact, eyes opening, but then he relaxed again, nodding subtly but enough for Martin to notice. Now that Jon would expect it more, Martin repeated the action but brought his other hand to the side of Jon’s face, rubbing his thumb on his cheekbone. 

“Hey,” Martin mumbled, only just loud enough for Jon to hear. “You okay?”

Jon hummed a positive response. He’d wanted to make sure, not looking to do anything too quickly, even just forehead kisses or light touches. He doubted Jon would often say if he felt uncomfortable. 

Unable to wait any longer, Martin pulled slightly away from Jon and looked in his eyes. He brushed his thumb over Jon’s lips, and Jon nodded. 

For the third time now, Martin had the luxury of kissing Jon. He couldn’t wait until the time he’d done so enough times he couldn’t count them, quick kisses goodbye and lingering ones alone at night, pushing all of his feelings through actions instead of words. He cupped Jon’s jaw with one hand and held his mid-back with the other, just wanting to be closer. 

The first date of what Martin knew would be many. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin K. Blackwood actually stands for Martin 'king of consent' Blackwood. I hope you folks enjoyed the long-awaited jonmartin indulgence- but now for an announcement!  
> So we all know at this point about MMSY, but I will be taking a month or so between MM and MMSY for the purpose of planning and mapping out the sequel. But do not worry, I wouldn't leave you lovely folks without content for that dreadfully long of a time. As you may have seen, Magnus Memorial now has a series link, so I suggest subscribing to this series as I will be posting a new 'fic' called Magnus Memorial: Supplementals (yes, I'm aware I'm funny). Most of these chapters will be extras from the summers of characters within this fic, but there will be other bonus content too, coming out at the same schedule that this fic has been updating at. I'm genuinely really excited to write this extra content, I've been building up ideas for bonus chapters for a while now- summertime shenanigans, 'deleted' scenes, and extras from the POVs of other characters within MM. In the next chapter, I'll be asking for what could be called some slight reader participation for one of the Supplementals.   
> I love you all, thank you so much for reading.  
> As always- stay Funky, and stay oh so Fresh! Yeehaw


	59. 5/23-25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it is late at night, my brain is tired, please excuse any incoherence and enjoy

-Agnes Montague-

-5/23-

Even as the school year was coming to a finish, Agnes still found herself wrestling with a busy schedule. Between AP tests being stressfully close, regular school, and work, at the end of every day she usually had about three minutes to breathe before waking up and doing the whole thing over again. Such was her life, and she’d become resigned to it. 

But she thought one part of this daily rotation to be disappointing, and that part was the fact she’d not found any time to see Jude since Saturday. Now Wednesday, her mind often wandered back to that moment in the nurse’s office, Jude leaning in to close the distance between them (Agnes also liked to ignore remembering everything that happened after). She ached to feel that again- the rush, the almost feverish heated that scorched through her. 

Agnes didn’t like seeing Annabelle. Of course, they still had to work together, but one of them would usually migrate to the back room when they could, or they’d pass by each other as if strangers when both were needed to fulfill coffee orders. The only thing that got Agnes through it was knowing that this could not be forever. The two of them had never fought before, but even still, she was certain they’d work it out sooner than later, and found solace in this fact. 

Agnes could wait for Annabelle’s friendship, but she couldn’t wait to see Jude again. So after school on Wednesday- she’d made sure to finish her homework first, of course- Agnes dug back through old texts with Jude to find a specific nugget of knowledge and then plugged it into her Google Maps. 

Now, strolling along the pavement with a warm breeze on her back, Agnes took another glance down at the map of roads on her phone. She shrugged her backpack a little tighter on her shoulders and looked around. She’d been through this part of the neighborhood many times, but never given it much attention or though, just another cluster of houses she dodged around to get somewhere else in town. But now her gaze was glued to every street, wondering what exactly her destination would look like. 

Agnes knew Jude’s address, the information was brought up in a conversation a month or two ago, but had never visited Jude at her home. She didn’t even know what the place would look like. Considering they were something more than friends now, although what exactly Agnes didn’t know, she figured she should have an idea of Jude’s living situation. 

They needed to talk anyway. Such conversations just couldn’t be conducted over direct message. 

She’d only been walking about twenty minutes when her Maps app made a  _ ping,  _ showing she’d arrived at her destination, the little flag on screen changing from red to white. She looked up and furrowed her brows at the sight before her. 

A small mobile home park, likely a bit above fifty trailers large, stretched out to just beside a thick line of trees. Agnes had seen the park before, but barely given it notice; she usually just ducked her head and walked quickly to wherever she was going, if she were to be honest. But now, checking the destination once again with the address, she could be sure this was the right place. 

She sighed when she realized the text didn’t list a lot number. Apparently surprising Jude at her house was quickly becoming a loftier goal than she’d realized. 

**agnes:** hey so i might have wanted to surprise you at your house but i do not know the number to your trailer

**agnes:** apologies for that one

**agnes:** we all make mistakes? part of the human experience? kumbaya?

**perryromaniac:** kumbaya indeed.

And then, in the quiet emptiness of the paths between the trailers, Agnes saw a figure come into view, a telltale black tank top taut against smooth brown skin. Despite the rather dreary surroundings, Jude created her own pocket of space, a sort of indifference to what went on around her; she didn’t quite rise above the rest of the world, she more hung below it, a grounded being amid a turbulent reality. Jude was dependable in her unpredictableness. 

Jude stepped onto the pavement beside Agnes, a few weeds growing next to their feet. Plants there liked to sprout out from the cracks between the concrete, filling an otherwise empty space. Jude put a hand on her hip. “Hi.”

Agnes glanced down, her lips pressing together. “Hi! It’s- been a bit.”

“It has,” Jude smiled. “It’s sweet you wanted to surprise me here. Even if less than thought-through.”

“My brain is full of many other important things!”

“So I’m not important enough?” Jude asked, smirking. 

She received a light slap on the arm from Agnes. “Oh, shut up, you know you’re important to me.” There were a few moments of silence before Agnes hummed to get her throat working again. “Sorry, uh- you don’t mind that I just showed up out of the blue?” I kind of didn’t expect…” she motioned to the entirety of the mobile home park. 

Jude turned toward the rows of trailers. “This?”

“Yeah,” Agnes said, nodding. “This. Not that it’s a bad thing. You just never told me.”

Jude shrugged. “There didn’t seem to be a reason. Did you want me to show you our place?”

Earnestly, Agnes agreed, and Jude led the way, having them weave between trailers. As she progressed further into the park, Agnes caught more and more signs of life; movement in windows, a woman outside watering plants, chairs set up on bits of lawn that connected the homes. Despite being nearly identical in size and shape, each trailer had its own look to it, a mark set from the owner; whether that look was formed from frilly pink curtains in the window or beer cans strewn before a doorstep, the place had a distinct sense of individuality, which surprised Agnes. She’d expected uniformity more than anything. 

Jude even waved to a man outside his home, who smiled and waved back. “That’s Jordan,” she said once she’d cut off eye contact with him and looked back to Agnes. “He’s cool. Helps us with any infestations we get in the trailer.”

The trailer in question was soon in front of the two of them. Jude stopped before it, one hand on the railing leading up to the door of the mobile home. Agnes scanned her eyes along it; this one had less of a uniqueness than some of the others did, without anything clear showing through the windows or plants outside to distinguish it from the others. 

Jude opened the door- she must have left it unlocked to just quickly come meet Agnes on the pavement outside. Agnes walked up the stairs and through the threshold, not sure what she expected to find. 

The interior of the trailer was… fine. Normal. She wouldn’t have thought of calling it particularly  _ nice,  _ but the living room was clean and had a small sofa and TV, the kitchen area lacked too many dishes in the sink and only felt slightly too crowded with the table. Down the hallway Agnes could see the shadow of a bathroom, and then two doors, assumedly leading into bedrooms. 

“It’s not a- a palace or anything, but it’s home,” Jude said, taking a look around the home as if seeing it for the first time as well. 

Agnes smiled. “It’s where you live, so I like it.”

Agnes didn’t lie when she said that. The home may have been less than luxurious, but even just standing inside it made Agnes smile; she was getting to witness where Jude lived out her everyday life. Where she made dinner, where she went to sleep, where she sat and watched shows on the telly. 

“Ah- follow me,” Jude said. Agnes did indeed follow her, through the living room and then into the hallway. She pointed to the door on the left side. “That’s my dad’s room.” She rested her hand on the knob of the other door. “This is mine.”

While the rest of the home had been dim, the beiges and browns of the room stealing some of the natural sunlight, the window in Jude’s bedroom made the small space practically glow. The light fell primarily on the bed pushed into the corner of the room, multiple posters hung above it of people Agnes didn’t recognize who wore black and had scowling expressions. 

There was a desk, a matted rug, a lamp; nothing that to most people would be of particular note, but Agnes couldn't get enough. The room felt so incredibly  _ Jude.  _

“This is it. Where I spend a good half of my day.”

Agnes fought to suppress a rather goofy smile. “I like it. It feels very… you.” She sat down on the bed, which was, surprisingly, neatly made. “You said the other room is your dad’s?”

Jude nodded. “Yeah, it’s just the two of us here. He’s not home all that often or anything so you don’t have to worry.”

“Why would I worry?” Agnes asked, frowning. 

“No interruptions, you know? He’s usually just working, which is fine with me. So I usually have the place to myself.”

“Oh,” Agnes said. She briefly considered continuing the conversation, going deeper, asking more questions, but Jude had already looked away from her and was staring out the window of her room, acting natural but clearly uncomfortable. Agnes decided that may not be the best course of action. Instead, she moved from the middle of the bed to one end of it, leaving space at the other. She patted the available part of the comforter a few times. 

Eyebrows raised, Jude sat down next to her, knees spread in a confident stance that she leaned forward into. “Definitely seems like there’s something you want to talk about.”

“You know me too well,” Agnes smiled. “Yeah, I think we should- I mean, it’s fairly obvious what we need to discuss.”

Jude sighed. “Do you want to be my girlfriend, Agnes?”

If she’d been unsure before- which she was not- the way Jude said her name would’ve convinced her in a heartbeat anyway. “Yes,” Agnes said, completely without hesitation. More of a response than the word she’s spoken, Agnes pulled Jude into a tight kiss, her fingers stretching out over the back of Jude’s head. Jude pushed back into it, her arms wrapping tightly around Agnes’s neck. 

They separated, but not fully- Jude kept her arms in place, and Agnes let her hand travel down Jude’s back, coming to a stop just above waist level. She’d been right to search for that feeling again, and now, Agnes never wanted to let it go. 

“There’s something you should know,” Agnes said. 

“Dammit,” Jude smirked. “Knew you were an axe murderer. Really should've done more of a background check.”

“Shit, you caught me,” Agnes said, laughing. “But actually. You haven’t been at school the last few days, so you wouldn’t really know, but Annabelle and I- we aren’t really talking at the moment, and, by extension, Jane and I aren’t as well.”

A beat passed before Jude responded. “Oh. Okay.”

“O- okay?” Agnes asked, incredulous. 

Jude shrugged. “To be honest, we didn’t get on too well very often anyway. I’m not exactly upset.”

For some reason, Agnes’s heart sunk when she heard that. She was the one not talking to Annabelle- so why would Jude’s casual acceptance of this bother her? 

Since freshman year, Agnes, Annabelle, and Jane had been a package deal at Magnus Memorial. Even just a few days of functioning as otherwise made the world practically spin on its head to Agnes. But at least she had Jude- at least she’d taken a chance on her, unlike the two others. Losing two people in the process of gaining one didn’t seem like the best trade, but Agnes knew it wasn’t forever. 

Tired of thinking about that, Agnes unraveled herself from around Jude and swung her backpack off her back and onto the ground. Jude’s suspension didn’t release her from the bounds of studying for their AP exams. Jude crossed her arms, leaning forward to get a look in the bag. “Christ, what did you bring, Agnes?”

Agnes smiled deviously and held out the English AP practice book. She’d forced Jude most of the way through it at this point, having done quite a bit herself as well. There were just a dozen or so pages to complete before she could feel secure taking the exam the next week. 

“I surprised you with my wonderful presence, and now, you even get to study for next week’s exams with me!” 

Jude groaned. “Agnes,  _ dear,  _ you’re just no fun.”

Agnes waved the book in front of her face. “Come on! I’ll make it fun, you know I can.”

Jude bit on her lower lip. “You know something we could do that would be way more fun?”

Agnes froze, still holding the test book in one hand. One side of Jude’s lips quirked upward, almost cocky. She held the book and slowly lowered it down to the bed, Agnes’s hand remaining on it but without motion. She’d stopped breathing a couple seconds earlier when Jude touched her again. 

“You do make a good point with that,” Agnes said. 

Jude cupped Agnes’s jaw with her hand. “I’ve just mastered the art of persuasion.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-5/25-

“I can’t believe you just used  _ Militia  _ on us. I thought we were friends, Daisy!”

Melanie griped as she often did, but completed the exchange of cards. Georgie just looked at her with amusement while Daisy chuckled. “It’s a mistake to count on friendship when playing Dominion.”

Martin had made it to the end of what was an especially good week, one spent with his head often unfocused, wondering if he’d entered into a dream when he looked back on walking through a quiet park in the evening and holding Jon’s hand, or even just when he’d been given the privilege to kiss him. But every day, Martin woke up and he still existed in a world where he and Jon were now boyfriends. 

Sitting around the living room at Daisy and Basira’s house this week was more exciting when Jon and Martin had something good to hide. Martin, of course, planned to respect Jon’s wishes and keep their relationship a purely private thing for however long Jon felt was necessary, but he couldn’t help the rush he got when giving Jon a knowing glance as all their friends talked or the comfortable way they pressed their knees together. Something wonderful hidden in plain sight. 

This week, the group chose a commonly played favorite, the card game Dominion. When reading over the rules for it as a refresher, they’d discovered the game could be played by a maximum of four people. They didn’t need a mathematician (despite having Basira, a math teacher, there) to figure out that the eight of them divided into partnerships would be fully conducive to the game. Of course, everyone had teamed up with their significant others to make the division easier- Melanie with Georgie, Daisy with Basira, Tim with Sasha. They didn’t know that the trend of partnerships dating carried on to Jon and Martin. 

Daisy snickered at the way she’d attacked Georgie and Melanie. As they were one unit, Basira gave Daisy an appreciative head nod and smile, something that somehow managed to be cheesy despite involving no contact. Perhaps it had to do with the softness in Basira’s eyes when she looked at her wife. 

Melanie, still pouting, threw a small chip at them and smiled. “Get a room!”

Martin was about to answer with the fact that they were all congregated inside Daisy and Basira’s house and therefore they owned every room, but he didn't have the chance before Sasha spoke. “I wonder if it helps or hurts our strategy that we’re all teamed with our significant others.”

“Yeah, Jon and Martin are pretty much dating anyway,” Basira chuckled. 

Martin froze and exchanged a glance with Jon. They’d heard these things many times before, of course- now they just actually made sense and had a basis. In the past, those comments had both made Martin feel uncomfortable and hopeful, as if they were a sign he’d someday have a chance. Well, it turned out, they technically were. 

“Took them long enough,” Tim said, laughing. As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he shut it tight, eyes wide. 

This time, Martin might not have been able to just freeze and let the conversation go somewhere else. 

He’d told Tim expressly not to mention their relationship to anyone else, or even allude to it, but apparently he lacked the ability to follow instructions. Tim sent him an apologetic glance. 

Sasha squinted. “Tim, what?”

This was the general sentiment from everyone sat around the coffee table. They all stared at Jon and Martin, wearing expressions of disbelief, but happiness more than anything. The eruption of questions that followed Tim’s statement was distressingly loud. 

Tim pressed his lips together. “Sorry, that was- that was just, uh-”

Martin sighed. “Yes, we’re together.”

The room quickly became far too loud for containing only eight people, three of which remained silent. All Martin could do was swallow nervously and hope that Jon wasn’t too angry. But they weren’t going to get out of it any other way, and Martin couldn’t lie to these people who he regarded as his best friends. 

“ _ Please  _ slow down,” Martin begged. “We’ve only been together for nearly a week now- we were going to tell all of you soon, I swear.”

Georgie smiled brighter than Martin had ever seen her do before. “Sorry, we’re just- really happy for you guys. It was a long time coming, honestly.”

Martin took the compliments and congratulations with a smile, but stole brief looks to the side at Jon, who stared at the carpet on the floor. He didn’t say anything. 

Everyone gave their sincere congratulations, with Sasha going so far as to pull Martin into a tight hug, one that Martin could have melted into and stayed forever inside of. But he didn’t, and so he had to separate, glancing at Jon every minute or so to determine if he was okay. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t seem to entirely shut down, and Martin saw that as a win. 

\- - - - -

No matter the circumstance, Martin’s friends had the ability to make fun of things, anyone and everywhere. After the initial congratulations died out, the group fell into the hole of teasing Jon and Martin for their relationship, which- considering how long it took to get them together- became popularly nicknamed a “senior citizen relationship.”

Martin remained concerned for Jon the entire time, who managed to eek out a few chuckles throughout the rest of the night, but didn’t say much other than that. Even when Martin left to go to the bathroom, the perfect time for Jon to find an excuse and go talk to him, Jon did nothing; and Jon doing nothing is far more worrying than Jon doing something, even if that proposed something is moronic. 

Finally out of Daisy and Basira’s house, Jon and Martin sat side by side at the front of Martin’s car. They’d survived the night of questions and congratulations and teasing, all of which were highly expected of the group. But now Jon sat in his seat with his head against the side of the headrest, his arms crossed more for comfort than for some kind of stance. 

“Jon- are you alright?” Martin asked. 

Jon sighed. “I’m fine, Martin.”

Martin shook his head. “No- you can’t ‘I’m fine’ me after all of this.” When he looked over at Jon again, his voice softened. “Just tell me what it is that’s wrong. You know I’m here for you, Jon.”

The car rumbled in the quiet, warm night. Martin was glad they’d parked farther down the street than they really needed to. It gave them a moment to talk, to breathe. 

Jon nodded. “I- thank you. I know you’re here, Martin. I just- didn’t want them to know so soon, is all. Before you could be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“Sure you wanted to be with me,” Jon said. 

Martin was about to get a headache from this. “Jon. Jon, I am so sure, it is ridiculous. And anything that you feel you have to tell me, you can do so on your own terms.” He paused. “I’m sorry about tonight, that things went that way. I wish we could’ve waited longer, if that was what you wanted.”

The quiet stretched thinly between them in the seconds before Jon answered. “It might be for the better. Just- give me more time, okay? All I need is more time,” he sighed. “I’ll tell you.”

Martin touched his hand on the upper part of Jon’s back in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Right. More time, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao deadass my eyes kept closing as i was writing this chapter and i was like No! Must Stay Awake!!  
> well anyway, here's something fun for you guys! last week i announced the Summer Supplementals, which i am incredibly excited to write. as i said, most of these will be actual bonus content chapters of writing. however, for the first of these supplementals, i wanted to do an author q&a! i thought it would be kind of fun to do so and tell you folks more. so, if you have any questions, about the fic or even about me, your dear author, i urge you to ask them in the comments of this chapter (or later chapters, if you think of a new one or something). i'm really excited to answer any questions you guys have!  
> that being said- thank you so much for reading, you all make my day and make this fic worth writing.   
> as always, stay Funky, and really do stay incredibly Fresh! Yeehaw


	60. 5/28-6/1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are in june i am in disbelief. in life we are in december but in my heart of hearts it is june 1st

-Agnes Montague-

-5/28-

The silence was incredibly loud. Breathing and scratching pencils were the only sounds to occupy the room, perhaps the rush of an occasional car going by on the road outside. Collective focus hung palpably in the air. 

Her lips pressed together, so firmly she could feel her bottom teeth, Agnes bent over her paper and wrote hurriedly, her pencil moving line to line as her brain worked to weave sentences and paragraphs into something cohesive. Her breath was quiet- if she inhaled or exhaled too loudly, it could break the tension in the room as if it were thin glass. It may as well have been. 

Agnes had taken AP exams before. Just a year prior, she’d aced the world history and biology tests, landing herself a few nice credits for university. But as she often repeated to herself when studying for a quiz or even an ACC competition- “past performance is not an indicator of future results.” This quote has its flaws, but when she forced herself to be motivated, it did the trick. 

Now, once again in the library of her school, Agnes sat midway into a row of desks with a hefty packet in front of her. She’d been given three long hours to answer countless multiple choice questions and write essays, a long and arduous task. She found herself growing achy in the hard chair she sat in. 

She’d been glad to have Mr. Blackwood as teacher for her first AP English class. Despite his novelty in the profession and a lack of some necessary confidence, he’d taken the time to really make his students understand and then excel in the subject, at least to the best of the ability of each individual pupil. Agnes could recognize a good teacher easily. He cared about them, too, he truly did, a mark of a promising educator. 

Agnes wasn’t afraid of the exam. She almost savored it. The quiet, the satisfying feeling of pressing her pencil into the page to finish a sentence or filling in the bubble of a question she knew she’d answered correctly. It was akin to hitting the buzzer in an ACC competition. 

About twenty other students occupied the library as well, the proctor sitting up front at a small desk. Among these students was Jude, sitting just a few desks in front of Agnes. Every so often Agnes would look up, see Jude, and smile; at the end of this exam, Agnes could see her, talk to her. That was reward enough even without the university credits. 

Jude wasn’t the only familiar person in the room. Sitting next to each other near to the front were Annabelle and Jane, both focused intently on their own packets. All four had taken AP English 11 this year, although Jude took only that, while the other three stretched themselves between three or four AP courses each. 

Agnes thought about how they’d always studied together, always boosted each others’ confidence before a big test. They probably would’ve met up Sunday night to go over notes, or at least texted in a group chat while reviewing their own. They would’ve forced each other to go to sleep hours before they usually did- even Annabelle. 

_ The Spooky Lesbians,  _ Agnes thought, chuckling ever so slightly to herself. 

_ Agnes groaned. “We came up with that stupid nickname in 9th grade, why must you insist upon trying to bring it back?” _

_ Jane shrugged. “I mean, it is kind of nice to have a group name, as admittedly dorky as that is,” she said. Agnes sighed. _

_ “You guys will forget about it by next week, you know.” _

_ Annabelle smiled, knowing they’d won. No matter how hard you fought, it was hard to refuse Annabelle- something about her could have such immediate influence over you. “Love you Agnes.” _

Agnes pushed the memories away, knowing she couldn’t start dwelling on them at that moment. Maybe, maybe later she could, when she didn’t have to worry about there only five minutes left for this exam and still having half a body paragraph and a conclusion to write for her last essay. 

This was the second week of the group not talking. Annabelle, still third on Agnes’s list of messages in her phone, hadn’t texted. Had barely so much as looked at Agnes in their classes. Annabelle was always one to hold a grudge, was quite talented at it, actually, but Agnes surprised herself with how hard letting go of her own could be. She didn’t plan to anytime in the near future. 

For months, Annabelle had been against Jude’s existence in their small group. And for what? A stupid fucking crush? Annabelle reasoned it out to Agnes as if she was concerned for Agnes’s wellbeing, and she believed it at first, she really did. But Annabelle could do that to a person, make them think that way. Agnes didn’t feel like dealing with it anymore. 

She’d barely lifted her pencil off the paper for the last time when the proctor called time. Finally letting herself breathe again, Agnes leaned back in her chair, eyes lifted to the ceiling in a thankful praise to whatever the hell was up there for getting her through that exam. 

Jude leaned out of her chair and twisted around to face Agnes, giving her an excited smile. After all, she’d just finished her  _ only  _ AP test. Agnes gave her a small smile back. Even if she had a few more to go, this was a victory. 

The proctor collected their exams, and between her mental and physical exhaustion, Agnes found it difficult to heave her backpack over her shoulder. She stood from her chair and stretched for a moment, her back crying out in pain. Some stretching would have to be done that evening. 

The students began to funnel out of the library and Agnes found her way to Jude’s side. They pushed open the doors to the hallway, where others were leaving their own classrooms and navigating through the corridors as the bell rang. Since they’d been testing for most of the morning, it was already advisory. 

Agnes glanced at Annabelle and Jane, who were already splitting off into a different hallway, laughing about something together. A deep ache climbed its way through Agnes as she watched them talk without her. But her shoulder soon brushed against Jude’s, and some of it, most of it, was worth it. 

“How do you think you did?” Agnes asked, pressing up against the wall to avoid a group of people passing by. She looped her fingers around the straps of her backpack and held them, a helpful anchor in the busy hallway. 

Jude sighed. “Well, I finished it.”

“That’s an accomplishment!” Agnes smiled. “I mean, I barely did.”

“And you  _ are  _ just the picture of academic glory.”

“Oh, shut up,” Agnes chuckled. 

She didn’t know exactly where they planned to go for advisory. Usually on this day, she realized, she’d be going to GSA for advisory. But Annabelle and Jane would be there, and she didn’t feel like being contained in a small group with them. They’d hired a contractor for the summer anyway- they didn’t need her there. 

Did Annabelle and Jane need her? Because they seemed fine without her. 

They seemed to be heading in the direction of the English classroom. Unwilling to make decisions about where to go, Agnes let Jude lead the way. They exited the crowded hallway and started heading down a flight of stairs. 

“Do you think I should text Jane sometime?” Agnes asked. 

Jude shrugged. “You could if you want to. But they don’t seem like very good friends, so I don’t know.”

Agnes frowned. “I guess that’s true. I’ll wait until one of them talks to me.”

She wouldn’t go crawling back so easily. Something about describing them as less than good friends almost made Agnes’s stomach feel queasy, but Jude still had a point. She’d be okay for now. 

\- - - - -

_ Magnus Memorial GSA _

**MCArson:** hey banks wanted me to text all you guys about what we talked about today

**PlasticGender:** Well We Al ready Talked About It!

**MCArson:** yeah but a few people weren’t there today

**spider bitch:** Who else wasn’t?

**JuliaM:** pretty sure you, agnes, and jane all weren’t there today right

**JuliaM:** we just assumed all three of you were doing something else

**MCArson:** anyway, we found out who gave us the anonymous donation a few months ago

**MCArson:** the shit ton of money one

**spider bitch:** Yeah lmao i definitely remember

**janey:** who was it?

**MCArson:** the Fairchild family

**M i cha ol:** well ntbta’s rtealy something hhuhuh

**spider bitch:** Turn on autocorrect luv x

**agnes:** how do you know?? what??

**MCArson:** nurse gertrude told me

**MCArson:** she’s been working at the school a long time, has connections ya know

**spider bitch:** Ominous. I like it

**janey:** why would they donate so much to the project? didn’t mr. fairchild try to stop the bathroom plans from going through at the board meeting? 

**spider bitch:** Damn internalised homophobia? Couldn’t be me smh

**JuliaM:** nurse gertrude is a fucking spy spread the word

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-6/1-

If Martin had been able to choose a class to be observed throughout, he likely would not have gone with the college prep class of seniors. A large percentage of them had developed some significant end of the school year senioritis, and getting them to pay attention proved to be a difficult task. 

Alas, he did not have a say on the moment when Peter Lukas knocked on his door, clipboard in hand and a tired smile on his face. Martin had sighed and let him into the room, just a few seconds after his seniors entered and plopped down into their seats. 

It’d been a fine class, although Martin’s nerves were certainly on edge with the large, older man sitting in the back of his room, an imposing presence in a place he usually just tried to fill with kindness. He finished it off with giving them a rather simple homework assignment. The first day of June had come around, and no one’s motivation seemed to be too high. 

Earlier that week, he and his students were stressing about the AP exams. When they were finally over, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from Martin’s shoulders, even if he wasn’t actually the one who had to take them. These exams were reflections of his students, but also reflections of his teaching ability. If they failed, so did he. 

And now, he was being judged again. Peter Lukas would look up at him at the front of the room and occasionally jot something down on his clipboard, brows furrowed. Martin found himself fidgeting a bit more than usual, avoiding looking at the back wall. 

When the bell rang at the end of the period, Martin dismissed the group and they funneled out through the door. He contemplated whether or not to open up his room for advisory. After being observed, he felt he might need to take an advisory period for himself just to catch up on some assignments. But Peter didn’t leave when his students did. Instead, he stepped up to Martin’s desk, the clipboard hanging at his side. 

Martin looked up from where he sat. Peter was tall and broad, his shoulders stretching a cable knit sweater. The white beard didn’t help to make him look any more friendly. To Martin, he resembled a fisherman Santa Claus. He pushed that unappealing thought away. 

“Do you need anything?” Martin asked, his voice as polite as possible, a fake smile on his face. 

“You talk to your students well,” Peter said. Direct, succinct. Martin had barely heard his voice before- it was interesting neutral-sounding, as if he’d never have an outspoken opinion about anything. Calming, in a sense. It simultaneously annoyed him and made him want to hear it endlessly. 

Martin nodded. “Thank you, I try my best.”

“And this is your first year teaching?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “I uh- went to uni a bit late, couldn’t get my degree until I was about twenty-seven. This is my first year in a full teaching position.”

Peter took another few glances around the classroom. He seemed to extract sound and warmth from the space, a monument to the feeling of cold wind. “And you feel like Magnus is a good fit?’

Again, Martin answered with a yes, resisting the urge to add a  _ sir  _ afterward. Despite Martin’s stature and sturdy build, he still found himself intimidated by Peter’s presence. 

A knock on the door interrupted the tense silence between Martin and Peter. Another moment and then Jon stepped inside the classroom. He froze in place, frowning at what he saw. Martin gave him a small smile as an acknowledgement. 

Peter pivoted on his heel, eyebrows raised. “Ah- hello.”

Jon dipped his head. “Mr. Lukas.” He exchanged a glance with Martin, one that screamed  _ do you need me to help you escape? _

“Jon,” Martin said. “It’s good to see you.”

Peter sighed, looking between the two of them. “I should be on my way. Thank you, Mr. Blackwood, for your time.”

“Martin is fine,” he smiled. 

“Martin.” Peter blew past Jon and then out the door, leaving a strange quiet in his wake. 

Martin exhaled. “Well, he’s…”

“Interesting?” Jon chuckled. 

“Yes, definitely,” he said. “Christ, it’s like he’s an air conditioner or something. I’m somehow colder with him around.” Martin bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh about what he was about to say. “Want to come warm me up?”

Jon shook his head in amusement. “Very professional, Martin. Good classroom conduct.”

“I don’t know what you’re scared of,” Martin laughed. “You’re the one with tenure.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I came to say that the library just got some new arrivals. I thought we could perhaps take some time to go look at them. Maybe I’ll find a collection that will actually make me enjoy poetry.”

Martin fake pouted. “I recommend you  _ great  _ things!”

“I’m not a fan of poetry unless it’s yours,” Jon smirked. Martin looked away, unable to process this expression that was just for him, the privilege he was given of being with Jon. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Martin laughed. “Yes, I would love to go to the library with you today. Nerd.”

After finishing up what he needed to do, the two strolled through the hallways, most students inside classrooms for advisory. He couldn’t believe the year was so close to being over. September felt like yesterday- but now the weather was warm again and the sun shone through the windows of the hallways. Muffled by walls, he could hear the sound of students in the cafeteria, and a group of people laughing inside a classroom. He took in a deep breath, enjoying this feeling. 

Martin hadn’t lied when he said he fit well into Magnus Memorial. 

And it was there he’d found Jon. 

“We should make dinner together again sometime,” Martin said. “Except not as a result of two of our students getting into a fight at the junior prom.”

“That- that would be great.” Jon’s hand brushed against Martin’s. But they wouldn’t do that, not at school- some things truly  _ were  _ unprofessional. 

“Okay,” Martin smiled. “I’ve never seen your place, actually.”

When Jon agreed to have Martin over sometime soon, something lifted in his chest. He wanted to see the way Jon lived and spent his time, in what place he woke up and went to sleep. He wondered what could come of it- any time that passed with Jon, he would enjoy, but he let himself indulge in the prospect of going further, of engaging in wonderful domesticity and then more. 

The sunlight streamed in the windows, and he let it warm him with the promise of summer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i hope everyone who celebrates had a great christmas or a great hanukkah or a great candlenights or whatever you celebrate! i can't believe there are only two more chapters left of Magnus Memorial. in one week, i'll get to mark this fic as completed, which is just... mindboggling for me. i never thought i could get here, but i did, and it's because of all of you!  
> i am of course still taking questions for the q&a! i got some awesome questions last chapter that i am really excited to write out answers to for the supplementals.   
> as always, thank you so much for reading- you lovely folks make my week.  
> stay Funky, and please, stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	61. 6/04-09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had four mugs of tea throughout today, like calm down martin blackwood kinnie smh imagine

-Agnes Montague-

-6/04-

_ 5:43 pm _

**agnes:** hey

_ 7:15 pm _

**janey:** hi

**agnes:** it’s been a bit

**janey:** yeah

**agnes:** how are you?

**janey:** i’m okay

**agnes:** oh okay good

**agnes:** how is annabelle?

**janey:** really?

**agnes:** yeah alright sorry

**agnes:** jude didn’t want me to text you

**janey:** and obviously you have to do whatever she says

**agnes:** well i didn’t because here i am

**janey:** right

**janey:** it was good talking to you

**agnes:** wait

**janey:** ?

**agnes:** why are you only talking to annabelle? she’s the one mad at me

**janey:** it’s annabelle, agnes

**janey:** you know i still love you but i have to stay with annabelle

**agnes:** oh

**agnes:** okay

**janey:** i’ll see you sometime

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-6/09-

Their smiles, their voices, were warmer now, more open. They talked with more laughs and a tinted gold in the air between them, highlighted by the shining sun of summer that streaked in through the window, reaching out from behind lush trees and buildings full of busy people. At a deeper level, nothing changed between them, as even before they’d bounced off of each other in the most naturally pleasing of ways. But now some of this natural connection could be brought to life, whereas it’d been hidden before like a flower under a field of snow, the winter had thawed and now a clear sky opened above the same field. 

Martin waxed poetic in this way about Jon from where he sat across the table from him, smiling and leaning his head into his fist, one side of his head warm from the light of the window. Martin often put his English degree to good use inside his own mind- describing Jon and his most minuscule of expressions to himself. 

He’d loved their visits to PanoptiCoffee before, but now he didn’t have to hold back on his fondness, teasing Jon when he felt like it and then making him blush in the moments Martin spoke his true thoughts. He still determinedly showered Jon with corrections about his writing- whether that was grammar, consistency, or structure. But in the minutes in between when their conversation would stray and flit from topic to topic, Martin’s expressions and words grew soft in the golden light of the coffee shop. 

By the time they were finished for the day, the sun was just beginning to lower in the sky, nowhere close to sunset but displaying the possibility of it. The reflection of the moon hung behind a group of fluffy clouds. 

Martin finished what would be his last tea of the day, glancing at the counter at the back of the shop. He watched as Agnes leaned against the countertop, staring out at the patrons; Annabelle seemed to be in the back room. They’d switched off between the two places since Jon and Martin’s arrival there.

“Agnes and Annabelle haven’t been talking much behind the counter today,” Martin said. 

Jon frowned and flipped a page of his manuscript. “They’ve not been talking much at all lately.”

“Really?” Martin asked, flipping back through the last few weeks of his memories. He hadn’t paid much notice to it, but if he thought hard about his classes, their rift was evident. “Hm. I guess you’re right- strange. Well, friends fight all the time.”

“They’ll be alright,” Jon sighed. Taking a last flip through the notes they’d collected, he closed the notebook. “I think that’s about all I can handle for the day.”

Martin nodded. “I agree- the whole ‘thinking’ thing is kind of evading me at the moment.” He began to pack up some of his things, inserting them into the bag he brought for these sessions, the same as he carried his work for teaching in. He checked his phone- it was only a few minutes after six. Tim had texted him some sort of meme, but that could be ignored for a little bit. 

Jon shifted in his seat, his eyes flicking downward. “Did you- did you ah, I think you said before you wanted to come to my place tonight?”

Looking up from where he reached into his bag, Martin raised his eyebrows. “Yes, actually, thank you for reminding me, I uh- is that alright with you?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Martin,” Jon nodded. “I have things to make dinner as well.”

“Oh what were you thinking?” Martin asked, leaning forward. 

“I’m not the  _ most  _ proficient chef,” Jon chuckled, “so I was planning for pizza- but homemade, with some rather nice ingredients. Pesto, goat cheese, mushrooms, mozzarella, uh- things in that vein.”

“You sound more proficient than you let on.”

“I am at the very least able to cut vegetables and sprinkle cheese on something, if that counts as proficient.”

“Gordon Ramsay would be impressed,” Martin laughed. 

Soon they were both within their own separate cars, Martin planning to follow Jon to wherever his flat was. Despite his usual comfort in the other’s presence, he found a familiar sense of nervousness blooming in his chest- seeing Jon’s home would be more intimate, more special. Sure, Jon had seen  _ his  _ flat a few times now, but even with his own issues, Jon was undoubtedly the more closed off in nature in the relationship. A closer window into his life was something Martin longed to experience.

The drive didn’t take all that long. Martin squinted at the sun, bright and shining exactly from the direction they were heading in. Jon led their cars down a main road until it branched off into a smaller one, passing homes and trees before slowing to a stop in front of a medium sized brick building, its front adorned with many doors and windows. 

The two of them likely lived in similarly sized flats, but this was a contrast to Martin’s own building; he rented out one half of a decently sized house, just the upstairs portion. But Jon seemed to be in an actual conglomerate of homes like most people with flats did. Martin would’ve chosen a similar place to this, but he found the split-house approach to appeal closer to his goal of home ownership. Plus he didn’t have to deal with many neighbors immediately next to him. 

They parked in a lot within the complex, closed to the road beside the building. Jon led them around a corner and to the back, the side facing away from the road and instead looking out at a grouping of trees that separated the complex from other homes in the area. 

Jon unlocked the door farthest to the left, walking up a path framed by low bushes and an occasional and likely unintentional flower. They climbed up just one flight carpeted stairs, the air not quite bad smelling but perhaps musty, as if he were walking through the particles of old wood or parchment. He wondered how long the building had been around. 

Finally he turned the key in the lock of the door and they stepped into Jon’s dim flat, lit only by the sun that bled through the curtains and into the assumed living room. Jon flipped on the light switch beside the door. 

The flat, or at least this room, was sparsely decorated but still lived in- it lacked the homeliness of Martin’s place but still was covered in books and papers. He had all the essentials- a sofa, a television, a coffee table, bookshelves. 

Jon gestured to the room. “It’s- well, it’s not much really, but it’s- home.”

Martin smiled. “If it’s  _ your  _ home, then I love it, Jon.”

Jon’s eyes darted away, shortly followed by his face for a brief moment, probably due to a redness on his cheeks. Martin couldn’t wait for the day that either his compliments no longer flustered Jon, or at least he wouldn’t try to hide the fact they did. 

“You can set your bag down anywhere,” Jon said, and Martin did, putting it on a small table beside the door. He took one more glance around the flat, already deciding the place would hold a fond place in his heart. 

“Should we start on dinner, then?” Martin asked. “Fun fact, apparently tea does  _ not  _ make you any less hungry.”

“Then we better start working,” Jon said. 

In the kitchen, they set out the ingredients and began to form their pizza, as inept as the two were at some aspects of cooking. Martin rolled out the dough on the counter and then resorted to spreading it with his hands. 

“I took a pizza making class once a couple years ago,” Martin said, over his shoulder. 

Jon looked back at him from where he was cutting mushrooms. “Really? Just- needed some excitement in your life? A real thrill?”

Martin scoffed. “Shut  _ up! _ ” he laughed. “I think I still retained some technical skill, though…”

“The technical skill of pizza making,” Jon nodded. 

Martin grimaced and slid his hands under the dough. Eyebrows raised, Jon turned fully around and put his hands on his hips, an amused smile pulling at his lips. Martin attempted to recall his memories from the class and hilariously struggled to toss the circle of dough, instead ending up with the sticky substance layered on his hands and only a  _ little  _ bit on his face. Perhaps a lot a bit on his face. 

Jon nearly hyperventilated laughing, something he didn’t do often. And even if Martin had to deal with prying moist dough from his fingers, making Jon laugh like that was always worth it, as he chuckled and got back to re-spreading the dough on the counter. 

Jon hadn’t nearly calmed down enough yet to get back to slicing. “You- dear lord, Martin,” he laughed. “That was- that was  _ disastrous! _ ”

“At least I’m not a coward,” Martin said, fake pouting. “Apologies if I’m just too entertaining for you, Jonathan.”

Jon shook his head and got back to chopping, still teasing Martin for his profound display of complete skill deficiency. This once prompted Martin to throw arugula at him. 

They got to work on spreading out the pesto sauce and sprinkling cheese on top of it, Jon layering the goat cheese in small slices. Mushrooms, arugula, and olives were the additions, with Jon swirling a bit of oil as a final garnish. The pizza was soon in the oven, its image warping from the heat through the glass door. 

In the time it took to cook the pizza, Jon and Martin gravitated to the tall bookshelves of the living room, being who they were. Most of the titles, Martin noticed, were old-looking and historic in nature, their spines gleaming gold and showing time periods or names of events. It looked nothing like his own shelves at home- more stately and professional, something Martin could imagine in the office of a politician or a professor. 

Jon pulled one book on the third shelf halfway out from its space. The book was burgundy with gold lettering on the spine, and if Martin looked hard enough, he could see the ornate image of a dragon just barely peeking out from where the book was still inserted between the others on the shelf. 

“This one is my favorite,” Jon said, his finger running down the spine. “A unique telling of the uprisings under the Qing dynasty, specifically that of the Ming rebels. It reads as partially unbiased fact and partially plot, using the story of leader Li Zicheng to accurately portray the era. It’s fascinating.” He paused, pushing the book back into the shelf. “Apologies if I’m boring you.”

Martin shook his head. “No, definitely not, these books are all beautiful, really.” He hadn’t understood exactly what Jon said, considering he hadn’t gotten to the point in high school of taking world history and speeding through his required core curriculum in university so he could get his English and teaching degrees. But if Jon found such things interesting, he’d be glad to hear more, glad to look at how Jon’s eyes lit up when he spoke about these topics. 

Jon smiled. “Most people are, ah- not all that interested. Hard to believe, I know,” he chuckled. “It does take a certain type of person to care.”

“I care if you care,” Martin said. He wanted Jon to  _ know  _ that- wanted Jon to know that even if he wasn’t interested in a particular subject, he’d be happy to hear Jon discuss it, even if just to watch him get excited. “I- well, I probably won’t  _ understand  _ it, but you can always talk about things.”

“Right,” Jon said, his eyes glancing away but then back to Martin. “You as well. Of course.”

The rest of the ten minutes passed with Jon giving him a close tour of the bookshelves, barely even mentioning some of the sections and then excitedly discussing a single text from another, pulling out the books to show covers and titles and then carefully slotting them back into place. They were the only perfectly neat area in the flat, obviously out of a significant love for them. 

The timer beeped and Martin found himself disappointed that the tour would be cut off before the last bookshelf. He melted each time that Jon smiled about what he was explaining, his eyes sparking in a way Martin didn’t often see with other people around. 

More than a little wonky looking, the pizza was slid off of the oven rack, the crust uneven but the smell heavenly. Martin breathed it in as he rolled a pizza cutter through the toppings and the dough before situating a couple slices on each of their plates. They’d once again made a meal together, and he considered it perfect; perhaps there were better chefs out there, of course there were, but he couldn’t think of anything that could taste better than this.

They set their plates down on the kitchen table, naturally electing to sit next to each other rather than across. Martin didn’t often eat at tables these days, but he appreciated the ability to let his knee stray to Jon’s, who pressed his leg close as well, a minimal but comforting contact. Martin remembered when that would’ve made his heart stop. 

“Christ,” Martin said after swallowing his first bite. “Points docked for presentation, but certainly made up for in taste.”

“The magic of pesto, if you will.”

“Is  _ that  _ why it’s called that?”

“I think you’re referring to ‘presto,’ but I’ll let you have it,” Jon smiled. 

Martin took another bite. “It’s not my fault you know so many useless facts. You’re like an endless whirlpool of material for ACC questions.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “And who’s the one here who could name every character from every Jane Austen novel?”

“Touche. Just- just eat your fancy pizza,” Martin laughed. 

And so they did. Outside the sun set and let an orange glow fall upon the kitchen, with the sun just above the tops of the trees that could be seen outside the window, a saturated filter layered over the world. It fell on Jon and Martin as they struggled to eat through laughs, or sometimes were just comfortably quiet in the presence of each other, Martin wordlessly offering another slice from the cutting board. The less effort they put into communicating, the more the two could function as a unit; solid and feeding into each other, bouncing back. 

Once they finished, Jon brought the plates to the sink, refusing to let Martin help wash them. He claimed he could do so in the morning, that they didn’t need to waste time on that. Martin didn’t put up much of a fight regarding the matter. 

Martin leaned back in his chair, staring out at the orange and pink horizon. “Would you like to maybe show me around the rest of the flat?” Martin asked. “I should probably know where the bathroom is anyway.”

“It’s not exactly difficult to navigate,” Jon said. “But I would be glad to.”

Shoes clacking on the hardwood of the hallway, Martin was shown to the farthest end of it first. “The bathroom,” Jon said, opening up the door. He nodded and they continued on to one side of the hallway. Jon grimaced when his fingers closed around the doorknob. “This room is perpetually a mess, but I find myself unable to work creatively in any other fashion, so- well, it’s just an accurate depiction.”

Martin didn’t know what to expect when the door opened, but as it did, he scanned his eyes across the small room. There was a desk pushed up against the wall farthest from the entrance and a comfortable looking chair. The rest of the walls were covered in bookshelves, these more technical of nature than those in the living room, resembling reference texts more than nonfiction novels. There were papers and reminders taped up against the walls, with books and papers littering every surface. He almost laughed at the rubbish bin in the corner, piled high with crumpled up looseleaf paper like every writing stereotype he’d ever seen. Such a small room only felt more claustrophobic with the presence of so much  _ stuff.  _

“This is where I write,” Jon said. “It’s… well. Cluttered.”

“Where the magic happens,” Martin said, still taking in the room. “There’s definitely a genius Victorian poet vibe to the room, if you excuse the comparison between you and poetry.”

“I’ll let it slide." 

Despite Martin’s curiosity about the contents of the room, the door was soon closed and they carried on to the last stop on the tour. Jon pressed his lips together before turning the knob, inhaling audibly. Martin hoped he wasn’t nervous, but he knew that was likely. 

They stepped inside and Jon flicked on the lights. Unlike the rest of the flat, Martin found himself impressed. The bedroom was adorned in dark browns and greens, some accents of navy, not quite but cozy but still inviting. It felt like  _ Jon-  _ the essence of him in decoration form. Martin turned around, inspecting every wall, every piece of art and dim lamp. 

“This is beautiful,” Martin said. 

“Georgie helped design it when I moved in,” Jon explained. “She didn’t have time to help with the rest of the flat- if you couldn’t tell from the stark difference.”

Martin didn’t feel any jealousy when hearing this- rather, he had an urge to pull out his phone and type out a quick  _ holy shit thank you so much for making the bedroom nice  _ text to Georgie. She really did deserve it. 

He put his hand on the comforter on the bed, smiling at the softness. It looked warm, heavy, secure- with the sky darkening outside, Martin already wanted to climb into a bed like this just to feel the comfort of the sheets. Walking up beside him, Jon sat back onto the bed. His feet barely touched the ground, but Martin refrained from teasing him about this. 

He sat down too and let their shoulders push together, breathing in the scent of the bedroom, appreciating the elevated but still  _ Jon  _ sense of it all. Martin felt as if he was made to be in this room, like he’d found another home. All it needed was a few houseplants. 

“I’m glad we did this,” Martin said, a small smile on his face. 

“Did what exactly?”

Martin shrugged. “I’m glad I could come over today. I’m glad we could make dinner, I’m glad I could see where you live.” He paused. “I’m glad we’re together, Jon.”

“Yes,” Jon said, meeting his eyes. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Martin lifted his hand behind Jon’s neck and brought them into a soft kiss, one that reflected the quiet around them and the darkening summer night that watched from the windows. Jon made a content noise as he melted into the contact, arms wrapping around Martin’s back and shoulder blades. 

Unwilling to let this atmosphere go to waste, Martin moved his lips, pressing a kiss to the side of Jon’s mouth and then travelling to his jaw, Jon’s fingers threading through his curly hair. Martin leaned in close to kiss the soft connection of Jon’s jaw and neck, the skin there tender. He continued down Jon’s neck with light and feathery lips that grazed against his skin. Jon’s eyes were closed, his features defined in the dim light of the bedroom. His face, his skin, his voice- beautiful. 

Martin sighed and let his fingers dip beneath the neckline of Jon’s shirt, pulling it gently to the side, creating an opening. He kissed Jon’s collarbone, and smiled at the shift it caused from the other. His fingers moved to touch the first button on Jon’s shirt, but before he could go any further, Jon pulled away, one hand still held on Martin’s lower back. Martin swallowed. “I- sorry, are you alright?”

Jon bit his lower lip, breaking eye contact. He turned so they were side by side again, his gaze angled to the intersection of the wall and the floor. His one hand drifted away from Martin’s back and onto the comforter between them. “There’s- there’s something I need to tell you about, Martin.”

Frowning, Martin also pulled his hands away, putting one beside him so it just barely brushed against Jon’s. “You can talk to me about anything,” he said, hoping the sincerity in his quiet voice proved the truth of what he said. 

Jon let out a shaky breath. He rubbed his face with one hand, his hair falling as his head dipped forward. “I… sorry, it’s- right.” There was a beat of silence. “I don’t- I don’t like that stuff.”

Martin frowned, confused. “That stuff?”

Jon sighed. “I- I don’t like sex, Martin.”

Martin took a moment to process. “Do you mean you’re asexual?”

The silence made everything else feel louder. Jon nodded. “Yes. That.”

For a moment, Martin thought he would feel disappointed, thought he  _ should  _ feel disappointed. But a deeper probe into his emotions revealed the fact that he didn’t. He turned the information over in his mind, reviewing it; Jon was asexual. It made sense- Martin was unsurprised. He thought back to some of his more intimate imaginatory sessions throughout the school year, searching for sadness at the fact they would never become reality, but he couldn’t find that. As far as Martin could tell, he didn’t feel it. 

And then, realization dawned on Martin. “Jon- is that what you were so nervous to tell me about?”

Jon nodded.

“Is- is that why you didn’t want to tell people we were dating yet?”

Another quiet nod. 

Martin could not care less about Jon’s asexuality. What broke him was the thought that Jon had been so nervous, so apprehensive to share this part of himself with Martin that he’d anticipated a negative reaction, or- it seemed- even a  _ breakup.  _ Martin found even the notion ridiculous. He turned to the side and, looking into Jon’s eyes, which slowly rose to meet his, took Jon’s hand in his own. He interlaced their fingers, their feet pressing against each other from the turn. 

“Jon,” Martin said. “You are far more important to me than any of that. You come before  _ anything  _ like that. I- I don’t care about having sex with you, Jon, I care about  _ you.  _ I enjoy you because you’re who you are, and you’re stubborn and ridiculous and intelligent and adorable.” He paused. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide that, and I’m sorry you were expecting worse, because you really shouldn’t have to. I meant it when I said you could tell me anything. If it’s a part of you, I’m not going to hate it.”

Jon looked down. Martin knew this expression- Jon didn’t know what to say, and so he didn’t say anything at all. He instead rubbed his thumb back and forth on Martin’s hand. With a small smile on the edges of his lips, Jon lifted Martin’s hand and pressed his lips against the back of it, eyes lightly closed. “Thank you,” he mumbled. 

Martin reached his arm across Jon’s shoulders and pulled him closer. They let their foreheads fall together. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, okay?” Martin said. “I’ll listen. I always will.” 

Martin meant that. He’d fallen for a personality and a soft smile, not for a body. With anyone else, he would’ve expected more disappointment from himself, perhaps even needing some time to think, but he discarded all of that for the knowledge that Jon was enough. 

Jon, always, was more than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit. there is one chapter left in Magnus Memorial.   
> i cannot believe that i just posted the second to last chapter of this story. thank god for the supplementals and MMSY, because in all honesty, i would probably be lost right now without this fic. this fic and subsequently everyone who reads it had grounded my brain so much during quarantine. i'll save the sappiness and the actual tears for the last chapter- but, for now, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has read this. whether you've been catching every update for six months or you binged through this in two days, whether you've left a comment on every chapter or you've just been doing as much as reading, thank you. 
> 
> **also, still taking questions for the q&a of the supplementals! i'm really excited to share some aspects of this fic and my process i haven't discussed much before, so if there's anything you're curious about, please be sure to ask in the comments**
> 
> anyway, i hope you good folks enjoyed this chapter, because i definitely enjoyed writing it.   
> stay Funky, and really, please do stay Fresh! Yeehaw


	62. 6/13-15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are

-Agnes Montague-

-6/13-

Wednesdays were calm shifts in PanoptiCoffee. They were reminiscent of the first moment Agnes ever walked into the shop- flanked by Jane and Annabelle, she’d stared at the interior with curiosity and intrigue, already feeling like she was home. Since then, the coffee shop had become both a workplace and a safe space for Agnes. She could go there after school, on the clock or not, and know exactly what to expect. 

But this wasn’t true as of late. Instead of laughing with Annabelle behind the counter and working as one seamless unit when the line got a little longer, the air between them was now tense and heavy, a taut string pulled between the two. They stood as far away from each other as possible, often switching between the back room and the counter when things were less busy. 

Agnes checked her phone often, counting down the minutes until the end of her shift. She’d perhaps exchanged two words with Annabelle since walking in the building. Now, she sighed as the clock on her screen finally showed 6:30, the time when she could hang up her uniform and leave as quickly as possible. 

She didn’t know if Jane told Annabelle about their brief text conversation. Nothing ever came of it- their eyes remained pointedly avoiding each other in classrooms and cafeterias, and Annabelle made no acknowledgement of the words she and Jane had exchanged. That way okay. She’d expected that anyway. 

Glancing over at the wall next to the back room door, Annabelle was leaning up against the counter beside it, refilling one of the machines. She stood right in front of the apron hooks. Agnes took a breath to steady herself.

“Hey, do you mind moving?” Agnes asked, polite as possible. “You’re standing in front of the apron hooks.”

She remembered saying almost that same thing before once, and at that point, Annabelle had smirked at her and went “make me,” prompting a laugh from Agnes. 

Instead, Annabelle just stepped to the side with a slight roll of her eyes. Agnes shouldered past her and hung up her uniform. “You don’t have to be so rude about it,” Agnes mumbled under her breath. 

Annabelle pivoted swiftly around, a hand on her hip. “What did you just say?”

Agnes froze with her hands still on the apron. “Uh- I said you didn’t need to be so rude about it.”

This is the most they’d spoken in weeks now. Smiling bitterly at the thought, Agnes realized that in a way, this was a win. “Because you’re so high and mighty, right, Agnes?” Annabelle said. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Agnes sighed. 

“Like how you didn’t  _ mean  _ to kiss Jude?”

“No,” Agnes said. “I  _ meant _ to do that one.”

“You’re fucking insufferable. How do you not realize you’re not going to be happy?”

“Jude makes me happy. You don’t own me. You don’t own my friendships and relationships, so fuck off and let me make my own decisions.”

At this point, the attention of the few patrons in the shop were turned toward them and their loudening words. Agnes hoped that James wasn’t coming in anytime soon, because arguing in front of customers didn’t usually go well as a business tactic. 

“I wanted the best for you,” Annabelle snipped. 

“Wanted?”

“Yeah. Want _ ed. _ ”

Agnes huffed and brushed past Annabelle again, stopping before going through the door to the break room. She pressed her lips together, mind racing. “And for some reason you think you know what’s best for me? You think you can dictate what I do? Jude doesn’t tell me what to do and what not to do. Maybe  _ you’re  _ worse for me than her.”

Agnes knew that to be untrue, but she didn’t let herself waiver, didn’t let herself stand down. 

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “Really? That’s why Jane informed me that Jude told you not to text her? But okay, she doesn’t try to tell you what to do.”

Agnes shook her head. “This isn’t about Jude.”

“Yes it fucking is.”

The presence of someone standing in front of the counter made them quiet again, silently glaring. Agnes turned to walk up to the register, despite technically not working anymore, ready to plaster on a customer service smile and ignore what just happened. 

Instead, she was met with the sight of Jude. Agnes froze. 

“Am I interrupting something here?” Jude asked, an amused smirk on her face. Agnes wanted to lean across the counter and kiss that stupid fucking expression off. “We said I’d come meet you here once your shift was over.”

Agnes nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that- yeah, definitely. Just- give me a moment.”

She escaped into the back room, sterile and full of steel, a combination of a kitchen for the desserts and a break room. She grabbed her things and, with more mental preparation than when she’d been ambushed by being in the same room as both Annabelle and Jude, stepped out again.

The two of them weren’t talking. They weren’t even looking at each other. Agnes sighed, relieved, and left the space behind the counter, standing beside Jude. “You ready to go?” Jude asked. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” Agnes said, prepared to rush out the door and into the warm summer sunshine of early evening. She was suffocating in that shop, the weight of their argument pressing down on Agnes’s chest, crushing her from the inside. She needed to leave. 

Thankfully, before she knew it, Jude had whisked her out of the shop and onto the pavement outside, the sound of rushing cars now filling her head instead of rushing blood. Jude opened her mouth to say something and then closed it, shaking her head slightly. 

Agnes glanced back into the coffee shop, where she could just vaguely see the shape of Annabelle moving behind the counter in the back. “So uh- where are we going? To my place?”

They didn’t have any sort of plan for the evening, just that they wanted to spend the time with each other. Or at least, Agnes thought that. “I have a bit of an idea,” Jude said. 

“Oh really?” Agnes asked, an eyebrow slightly raised. 

Jude held out a hand. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through their neighborhood, Agnes remarked on the greenness of the trees- where buds had been before, there were now full leaves rustling in the slight wind, golden tinged in the sunlight. The blocks were alive with people sitting outside or children playing, balls bouncing around front yards. There was a certain fondness in Agnes’s heart for the adolescent experience of suburbia, childhoods full of washing cars and melting ice cream. She didn’t want to stay forever, but the sight did sometimes fill her with nostalgia for a time she never truly left. 

The groups of friends they passed caused a pang in Agnes’s chest. She remembered days like those with Annabelle and Jane. But those days weren’t over- simply on an intermission. To comfort herself, she squeezed Jude’s hand a little tighter, a reminder that though things had changed she still was not alone. 

Agnes realized where they were going, but not exactly why. She recognized the turns and streets and then, finally, the water; the park she hadn’t visited for months now was in front of her. She reveled in the tranquility of it, the way the sun sparkled on the surface of the small lake. A small creek winded its way through the park as well, trees lining each side. 

“It’s been a while,” Agnes said. “It’s beautiful here in the summer.”

“Was the last time you were here September?”

Agnes furrowed her brows, thinking back through the months. “I guess it was.”

With their hands still intertwined, Jude led her onto the soft grass and then down closer to the creek, the water quietly but audibly tumbling down the stones. A wooden bench was placed beside the water, tucked between two trees. A memory was on the tip of Agnes’s tongue, begging to be released.

It came to her. “This is the bench from the beginning of the year. Back in September.”

Jude nodded. “It was a nice day, I thought we might want to come see it.” She weaved through a few trees and then sat down on the bench, one leg propped up on the seat, just as Agnes remembered from September- some things don’t change. 

Agnes took her place next to Jude, looking down into the running water of the creek. She closed her eyes for a moment as Jude’s arm stretched around her shoulders. “I can’t believe I didn’t even know you at the school year,” Agnes said. 

“I’d been looking at you since freshman year.” She paused, the sound of a laugh from the other side of the park ringing out- a few kids were playing beside the lake. “Do you know why I joined the drama club?”

Agnes shook her head. “I’ve wanted to know, but never asked. I kind of forgot about it.”

“Well,” Jude said, “I wanted to be around you. I didn’t know any other way to do it. I saw you constantly- in the hallways, in the cafeteria, waiting outside to be let into the school. And you are and were ethereal. So I made a fucking fool out of myself and went to the drama auditions.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Wow _ ,” Agnes sighed, smiling. “Somehow that never occurred to me.”

She relaxed into Jude’s side, feeling sleepy in the dreamlike warmth of her surroundings, trying to forget about PanoptiCoffee and about Annabelle’s angry face. It wasn’t easy when Agnes’s thoughts constantly circled back around to her best friend. 

“You know, we thought at first that you were going to try to- to ruin the musical or something,” Agnes laughed. 

Now it was Jude’s turn to be incredulous. “I-  _ ruin  _ the  _ musical _ , Agnes? What is this, the Disney Channel?” she chuckled. “If I’m going to be a villain, I have to be a better one than  _ that _ .”

“I knew it was ridiculous,” Agnes said. “The first time I saw you in that auditorium, I wanted to give you a chance.”

“And give me a chance you did.”

“Yeah,” Agnes hummed. “And I’m really, really glad about it.”

Perhaps things were not perfect. Maybe they never truly would be- that’s not how life functions, that’s not how it ebbs and flows through the years. Agnes knew what it was to destroy. She’d destroyed her home, she’d destroyed life, she’d destroyed friendships and experiences. But she knew that the best of all things were those made from ashes. Jude was the result of continents colliding and magma flowing, a force of nature to be reckoned with. She didn’t contain herself and Agnes never wanted to make her. She ached for what Jude had, the confidence in her words and actions. That’s why she needed Jude. 

The best of things are those made from ashes. Life would always keep moving, it would always keep passing her by in bursts as she focused inward, attempting so hard to succeed that it broke her. But she’d put those pieces together again and keep going, doing her best to catch up to the pace of her life. 

The end of another school year, and she had things to show for it. The GSA, the musical, the friends she’d made and some she’d perhaps lost. But nothing came close to the girl who held her close on a bench in the middle of a park, heads raised to the sky and the echo of smoke burning in her nose, a faded sensation from those days of September.

\- - - - - - - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-6/14-

With every vibration of his phone in his hand, Martin had to take another steadying breath, his fingers trembling as the phone rang. He’d typed a number into the keypad that he hadn’t called in months. It’d taken him significant time to decide to do before he did. 

His breath hitched as the rings went silent and someone picked up the phone. He needed water. Or tea. Or something. “Ivy Meadows Care Home, how can we help?”

Martin licked his lips to get them wet again. Even in the security of his own home, fairly lights on and a book out on his lap, his chest tightened. “Hey, it’s me, Martin Blackwood.”

The woman on the other end instantly recognized him as he’d done for her. “Oh, Martin! Lovely to hear from you- it  _ has  _ been a bit. We’ve missed seeing you around, you were always such a ray of sunshine when you visited. How’ve you been?”

They exchanged a few pleasantries, some of Martin’s nerves subsiding. “That’s great to hear,” he said, after she told him about something in relation to her children- he would have paid more attention, but he couldn’t get his thoughts to slow. “So, I was calling to see if I could get in contact with my mum.”

The receptionist took a moment to respond. “You’re always welcome to come in and visit.”

Martin cringed. “I- would really rather not. Could I get her on the phone, maybe?”

“Barbara is more situated in her room nowadays,” the receptionist sighed. “She’s just- well, weaker. Nothing all too unusual. We can bring her downstairs, if you like, but I’m not sure she’d be too willing.”

Despite the fact she wouldn’t be able to see him, Martin shook his head. “No, no, that’s alright, it’s… not anything urgent. Whenever she’s available, could I talk to her?”

“Of course, hon, I’ll do my best,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. 

Maybe this was just the universe trying to tell Martin not to try this. Even though they were estranged, she was still his mother, whatever that truly meant. He wanted to at least let her know about Jon. Maybe she had never been too good to him, but he felt that he owed her at least that. 

“I uh- thank you for trying, the, just let me know.”

“Will do, Martin.”

The call ended, and with a heavy sigh, Martin fell against the back of his sofa and closed his eyes. He let the phone drop from his hand- it made a muted sound on the cushion, somehow loud in the rest of the achingly quiet flat. He thought about texting Jon, but decided against it, opting to steep some tea in the kitchen instead. 

The next day would be the last of the school year. He had much work to do in the summer- the school year never truly ended for the teachers- but after Friday, the school would be quiet, the halls empty like they’d been the first time he ever saw them. 

\- - - - -

-Martin Blackwood-

-6/15-

“It’s been a while.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand as he said this, together looking up at the familiar building in front of him. The lights from inside spilled out on the pavement, and Martin could hear the muffled sounds of lively chatter and music from inside, the atmosphere buzzed with summer nights and sipped drinks. 

Jon nodded. “Can’t say I’ve missed it, but I’m not one to go against tradition. You ready to go inside?”

“I think we must,” Martin chuckled. 

Inside, the bar was as crowded as it had looked, with people crammed into nearly every seat at the counter and every corner of the room. Martin kept his hand tightly intertwined with Jon’s for fear of losing him, despite most people in the bar being sat down at tables. They scanned the room for familiar faces. 

With only some difficulty, they navigated their way to the opposite end of the bar, where Sasha had stood from her seat and waved them down. Martin gave the group a small wave as he approached. 

“Missed us just since school today?” Jon asked. Sasha sat down at the table, and Jon and Martin soon followed. 

“Well, it  _ was  _ a half day,” Basira said. “We’re a group of eight codependent friends, such is the way.”

“I wouldn’t quite call us codependent,” Daisy scoffed. 

Tim smirked. “Yeah, just needy. Well welcome to the fray, you lovebirds- get yourselves some drinks or I’ll do it for you.”

“Was that a threat?” Martin asked. 

“Yes,” Tim said. “Absolutely.”

Martin remembered his nervousness in September when he was invited to have drinks with this group, at this very bar. Nothing was special about it and yet they always came for special occasions. Such an event as, for example, the last day of the school year, warranted an outing to the bar. They’d managed to snag their usual table, everyone squeezing in around the scuffed and chipped wooden top. 

Daisy and Basira- married, intimidating, and far more badass than Martin could ever hope to be. Georgie and Melanie, united in their love of spooky content and making fun of their friends. Tim and Sasha, who somehow worked, despite being who they were. 

Jon and Martin.

“Another year over, eh?” Georgie said, taking a sip of her drink. 

Melanie snorted. “Georgie- you aren’t actually a teacher.”

“Says you,” Georgie shrugged. “You haven’t had to teach a horde of high schoolers to box step and chaine. I deserve a place on the payroll.”

“She can still rejoice about the end of another year,” Sasha laughed. They all had to speak loudly to hear over the other patrons of the establishment, everyone loud and crowded in. Martin bitterly thought that he hated how his friends were worth being there. “It’s a victory for all of us."

“A pyrrhic victory, but a victory nonetheless,” Jon said. 

“But you found  _ love _ , Jon!” Melanie teased. 

Georgie lightly shoved at her arm. “Don’t embarrass him, Melanie, he’s a shy boy,” she chuckled. 

Jon shook his head in amusement. “Tim was right, I do need a drink.”

Time and conversation passed quickly and easily for them, the deep purple in the sky turning to black as they laughed around the table, drinks in hand. Martin gradually slipped into a state of being pleasantly buzzed but still clear of mind. He laughed easier at stupid jokes and submitted his own as well, remembering fondly the days when he would be hesitant to insert himself into their conversations and inside jokes. 

In September, Jon and Oliver were sitting beside each other at this same table, Jon awkwardly avoiding the other’s eyes and barely talking. He remained quiet now but the edges of his eyes crinkled from laughing more often, a bright and beautiful sight. Martin smiled as well whenever Jon did, exchanging small touches when in need of security, brushing hands or knees pressed together beneath the table. 

Later into the night, Tim spoke even more freely than he usually did from the consumption of some alcohol, words tumbling out and resulting in laughs and confused looks from the others. In a moment of quiet between them all, Tim leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “I- I feel like I should do a toast.”

“A  _ toast _ ?” Sasha asked, incredulous.

“A toast!” Tim said, becoming more excited by the second. “Yeah, yeah, a toast. To uh- to close out this wonderful school year. Whaddya folks say?”

Daisy crossed her arms. “It’ll be entertaining, please carry on.”

Tim stood from his seat and lifted his nearly empty glass into the air. Exchanging a glance with Jon, Martin leaned back in his chair, amused and ever so slightly excited. 

Tim looked around at them, a dreamlike smile on his face. “We’ve done a lot this year, and I’m sure none of us are ready for the next. We’ve had great times and less than ideal ones. But, through it all, we have always had each other, and that’s proven to be enough time after time.”

“Get on with it!” Melanie shouted, prompting a laugh from Georgie and Daisy. 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe you’re rushing me when I’m just speaking from the heart. You can’t take away my First Amendment rights.”

“We’re  _ British _ , Tim,” Daisy sighed. 

“ _ Anyway-  _ we’ve always had each other, and that’s proven to be enough. So tonight I toast to us; I toast to our friendship and our love. To finding new friends-” he looked at Georgie and Martin- “who have become so much more to us than we ever could have known. To living another day, baby, and finding as much joy in it as we can. To always having each other’s backs, to working every day for our students and for our school. I toast tonight to old friends and new memories, to the best days of my life, which have either happened or are sure to come with all of you around. To Magnus Memorial High School, if you will.”

“That was actually pretty decent,” Basira said. 

The clink of their glasses rang loudly as they cheered, tipping back the rest of what was left of their drinks. Tim had done well- the toast filled Martin with an indescribable warmth as he looked around at the faces of his friends, the people he loved. He squeezed Jon’s hand beneath the table.

To old friends and new memories, to the best days that were sure to come. To Magnus Memorial High School. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Magnus Memorial High School. 
> 
> I honestly do not know what to feel right now. This fic has been a huge part of my life since June, and it's taken a priority status in my life I never thought a fanfic could be. I'm so excited to write the supplementals and MMSY, but the end of this is still affecting in the best way. I love all of you folks for sticking with me through this. You've watched me grow and change along with the characters and the plot. I said it last chapter, but whether you just binged through this in a few days or you've been for four months (wow), you're the reason I could complete this monster of a fic. You're the reason I didn't miss a single update over 31 weeks of writing- it's all because of your comments that I could look back at for motivation.
> 
> I loved writing every part of this. Even the moments when I was staring at my screen, no idea what word to write next at 11:45 at night after a long day, I loved doing it. And it feels incredible that you guys loved reading this along with me. It's never been perfect and never will be, but that's a good thing to me. Honestly, thank god this fic is ending here, because the google doc for it is hovering at 545 pages and it takes multiple minutes to load at this point. I am sad I didn't manage to get to the character limit for docs, though- the limit is around 1.2 million, and I'm at 1.1 million. Fucking ridiculous, I hate it here.
> 
> I thought that the last line of dialogue being "that was actually pretty decent" is fairly fitting. Because, really, this was all actually pretty decent, wasn't it?
> 
> As you all know, this isn't the true end of the Magnus Memorial storyline, and I do urge you all to keep following this story as I go. Subscribe to the series- I think that's a thing you can do on ao3? That would make sense? Anyway, please do that. I'll be coming out with the author q&a supplemental chapter at usual update time. I can't wait to see all of you again there. 
> 
> Thank you. Thank you so much. 
> 
> And, as always, stay Funky, and stay Fresh! Yeehaw <333


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